


Be Still My Heart (You’re Beating Too Loud and my Neighbour’s a Bitch)

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abuse of Power, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Humans, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Anxiety, Don’t copy to another site, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neighbours, Panic Attacks, Unintentional Asshole Derek, slight power imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 04:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Don’t worry about it,” the sheriff said again. “You usually gush about Derek, so why don’t we focus more on that instead?”Stiles let out a small laugh, shaking his head and taking another bite of his food. He’d been ranting and raving about the noise complaint all day, first to Scott, and now to his father. He supposed it was time to let the topic die and move on to something else.“I’d love the opportunity to speak to him more often, but he’s always running around doing things, and he’s such a busy guy.” Stiles shrugged. “He’s in charge of four buildings, and with over fifty apartments apiece, I don’t know how he has enough time to stay sane.”“Even he gets time off,” his dad argued. “If you want to get to know him, just ask him out to coffee.”“I can’t justaskhim out to coffee,” Stiles insisted, appalled. “Do you know what the dating scene is like nowadays? Brutal.Brutal, dad! Remember Lydia?”“Lydia was out of your league,” his father argued with a small smile.





	Be Still My Heart (You’re Beating Too Loud and my Neighbour’s a Bitch)

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> (Full disclosure - I realized on 03/22/2019 that March had turned into a monster, and that I wouldn’t have it finished before the end of the month. Instead of failing my year challenge ONE MONTH from the finish line, I shelfed it for April and cranked this one out instead. It’s not as detailed as usual for that reason, but I was determined not to fail so close to the end. So if this one is lacking compared to the rest of them, that’s why... I'm sorry. On a brighter note, April is already sitting at 93k so monster coming in April.)

When Stiles Stilinski had first bought his apartment, he was ecstatic. Not only was it virtually brand spanking new given the renovations, but it was in a good area, a ten minute drive from work, and _affordable_. In this day and age, being able to buy something affordable with the way the economy was was nothing short of a God damn miracle.

Stiles had thought it was too good to be true when he saw the price. Even when he’d gone to visit the place, there had been so much interest he knew there would be a bidding war for it. The old man who owned it was around for the open house, and Stiles had no idea how they’d ended up speaking, but they had. When it had come out he was the sheriff’s son, the man had proceeded to explain how his father had helped him out of a tough spot a few years ago with a burglary that had occurred—in his old place, not this one—and they spent a good ten minutes talking about how awesome Stiles’ dad was.

Which he was. Very awesome. Stiles had absolutely _no_  problems talking endlessly about his amazing father.

The man took him around once the place was a bit emptier, showing him all the various additional features that had been added, and Stiles _loved it_. So much. He wanted to live there more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t afford the bidding war, and he admitted as much. The owner was very kind, and admitted he came from money and had put the price lower than the place was worth because his grandchildren’s friends often spoke about the struggles of affording a decent place—and sometimes, a _not_  so decent place.

Stiles knew it wasn’t meant to be, but he thanked the man for his time, and as he left, the owner asked him to put an offer in. Stiles wasn’t holding his breath, but he promised he would. He called up his realtor, said he’d pay asking price—which was just on the cusp of what he could comfortably afford—and then left it alone. Two hours later, he got a call from his realtor asking him to check his email because he’d sent over documents an hour ago.

It was thanks to his father, and Stiles knew it. His father had done the owner a favour—by doing his job, no less—and the man decided to do a favour for him in return by allowing his son to buy his place. Stiles could hardly believe it, he was thrilled, he’d posted about it all over every social media he had as soon as the signed paperwork was in his hands—well, in his email, considering DocuSign.

Moving in had been quick and effortless. He had a few friends who could help, along with his dad and a few guys at the precinct. It paid growing up around a police station, because a lot of the cops were insistent on helping, and a few of them were married or friends with paramedics or firefighters, so it was just a procession of buff men and women helping him get all of his furniture and boxes moved in.

Within two days, he was fully moved in, and by the end of the first week, he didn’t know how he could possibly be any happier.

He worked a job he loved, he owned his own place, he had great friends. He was just in a really good place in his life right now, and he could hardly stand it because things were just _so good_!

And on top of that, the building manager was smoking hot. Like, fry-an-egg-on-his-bare-chest hot.

Stiles didn’t usually judge people based on their appearances, but this guy was easily the most attractive person he’d seen in _years_.

He’d introduced himself the first day Stiles had moved in, since he’d had to meet with him to provide the elevator key. Once he was finished and went to return the key, the guy was nice enough to show him around, helping him with the storage area, showing him the gym and amenities room, and even bringing him into the small media room.

Derek Hale was by far the best thing about this place, and Stiles sighed like a schoolgirl whenever he saw him on his way to and from home. Apparently he lived in one of the buildings he managed—four in total—but Stiles didn’t know which one, and he was too embarrassed to ask.

Still, driving home on a hot summer day to see a shirtless, sweaty Derek tending to the shrubs along the side of his building was definitely something he could get used to. Thank God for the warm spring weather, was all he could think.

For a few weeks, things were good. Great, even. Stiles was getting accustomed to living alone, and it was nice having a whole apartment to himself. He could wander around _naked_ , order pizza whenever he wanted, have _junk food_ lying around without worrying his dad would get into it.

It was so, so great.

Until it wasn’t. Because when had life ever gone according to plan?

* * *

Stiles woke abruptly at the rap of knuckles against his front door. He frowned sleepily, face still buried in his pillow while fumbling blindly for his phone. It hadn’t been charging overnight and he scowled at the battery life, but ignored it in favour of the time.

It was just after ten in the morning, so he couldn’t be _too_  angry, but similarly, it was Saturday, so what the ever living fuck? Who was knocking on his door at ten on a Saturday, didn’t people sleep? It was bad enough his upstairs neighbours kept weird hours and he’d jerk awake at random times of the night, but this was a new low.

Debating ignoring it and hoping whoever it was just thought he wasn’t home, he eventually let out a huge sigh and shoved his covers off himself, climbing to his feet while scratching at his stomach and opening his bedroom door. Shuffling sleepily down the hall to the door, he made sure he didn’t have any drool on his face, then opened the door without bothering to check who it was.

He wished he’d checked.

Because it was Derek.

“Derek,” he blurted out, startled, and belatedly reached up to try and tame his undoubtedly wild hair. “Hey. Hi. Good morning.”

“Stiles,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching, like he was trying not to smile. His eyes raked up and down his body quickly, likely taking in what he was wearing before his brows furrowed. “Were you sleeping? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no!” Stiles waved one hand, letting out an awkward laugh and hoping he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt. “No trouble at all. I shouldn’t sleep in too late on weekends anyway, it messes with my schedule. What’s up?”

“I’m really sorry, but did you have a minute?” Derek nodded behind Stiles, clearly asking to come in.

Normally, Stiles would be _thrilled_  at having Derek in his apartment, but he hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher in a few days so his sink was full of the dirty dishes he’d accumulated since then. Not to mention tax season meant his counter was _covered_  in papers while he sorted through all his things to figure out what he needed to send to his dad.

Of all the days Derek showed up, it _had_  to be today, when his place was a disaster. Couldn’t have been Sunday, when everything was clean, since Stiles usually cleaned up his place on Saturday evenings.

“Sure,” Stiles forced himself to say, moving aside so Derek could walk in. He shut the door behind him and followed him down the corridor into the open space of his kitchen/living room area.

The older man looked around with interest, likely taking the place in since he’d never been there before. Stiles felt like Derek had to have an amazing memory, given he remembered everyone’s names—he often saw him wave and call greetings to people—and he seemed to know things about them all off the top of his head.

Stiles liked to think he was special in the way Derek remembered his name, but he wasn’t delusional enough to believe that. So, he just moved to perch on the edge of the couch while Derek’s eyes lingered on his impressive comic book collection. He half-hoped Derek didn’t think he was a loser for it, but then decided he didn’t care because comics were awesome and anyone who disagreed clearly had no sense of joy in their life.

When Derek finally seemed to have finished looking his fill, he turned to Stiles and moved to stand in front of him, crossing his muscular arms and making Stiles want to rub himself all up against him. His arms were sinful, all hard cords of muscle and smooth skin and that _tan_. God, it was more than he could handle. Derek could probably bench press him, if he wanted to, with arms like that.

“How’ve you been enjoying your place?”

Derek’s question forced Stiles to pay attention and he snapped his eyes up from his crossed arms to Derek’s face, hoping he hadn’t been caught staring.

“Good. Great, actually. Still loving living here, it’s been amazing.” He smiled. “Very convenient for work.”

“Right, you work down the street,” Derek said, showing off his impressive memory. “You’re an engineer, right?”

“Yup.” Stiles grinned. “I’ve got attention deficit disorder, but I’m really good with patterns, and my medication makes me hyperfocus on things, so it’s kind of an ideal job for me.” He hadn’t exactly meant to talk about his ADD, but Derek hadn’t reacted to it at all, so he took that as a good sign.

“That’s a hard job. Need a lot of schooling for it.” Derek eyed him critically. “You look a little young to be an engineer.”

“Hey, I got my tickets and everything,” Stiles argued. “And I’m twenty-seven, _hardly_  young.”

“Oh, forgive me.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I must be ancient then, at thirty-one.”

Stiles gasped and slapped his hand to his chest. “Thirty- _one_? God, you’ve practically got one foot in the grave already.”

Derek let out a small chuckle and Stiles grinned, pleased to have amused him. This conversation was going fairly well, if he did say so himself.

“How do you like your job?” Stiles asked, since they’d already spoken about his. “You been working here long?”

“About four years,” he admitted. “My sister actually moved to the area first. She’s a wedding photographer, so where she lived didn’t matter much. I didn’t really have a goal after graduating university, so I jumped around various jobs until I eventually moved here to be closer to her. The previous building manager and I had a good rapport, and he knew I didn’t know what I was doing with my life, so when he started thinking about retirement, he told me about a few courses I could take. One thing led to another, and I ended up working with him for a year before officially taking over the next year when he retired.”

“That’s really cool, actually. The job you never knew you wanted.”

Derek smiled at him. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Need to be a real people person to work this job though.”

“I’m the most anti-social person in my friends’ group, everyone is shocked I’m still doing this job.”

Stiles let out a small laugh, assuming he was being sarcastic, but the look on his face suggested otherwise. “Oh, you’re not kidding.”

“No.” He shrugged. “It’s not as social as people think. Sure I meet and know pretty much everyone, but I usually only get spoken to when there’s a problem, and if it’s something I can’t fix and requires real discussions, that goes to the strata.”

Stiles hadn’t met their strata council yet. They were the owners who’d been elected to represent the building as a whole whenever anything of importance came up. Budget discussions for things that needed fixing or replacing, by-law infractions, complaints, things like that. He knew one of them lived on his floor, but he hadn’t had a chance to meet them.

Wasn’t like he was going to knock on their door or anything.

He knew Derek, as the building manager, dealt with a lot of the same things, but the board probably had final say on the more egregious items. Still, being on Derek’s good side was probably for the best. Especially if Stiles could weasel a relationship status out of him, though he doubted someone that attractive would be single.

And even if he was, no way was Stiles’ luck good enough that he’d be into men. Not that it mattered, since he didn’t know him well enough to form an honest opinion of him. He just seemed really nice and had a rockin’ bod, but that didn’t mean much in this day and age. He could be a complete dick, Stiles just hadn’t spoken to him enough yet to see it.

“Well, I think it’s nice you like the job despite being anti-social,” Stiles said after a moment, unsure of how to move the conversation along.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Derek shrugged one shoulder. “Get a good workout on an almost daily basis, and I’m always running around so I never get bored.”

“Makes the day go faster,” Stiles agreed. “Though you work weekends?”

“I work all the time. The only downside of this job, though I’m only on call for urgent things outside usual business hours.”

Stiles stared at him a little nervously now, because it was Saturday, so wasn’t it outside business hours? What was so urgent Derek was showing up at his place at ten in the morning?

Evidently, his worry was palpable because Derek hastened to continue.

“I was just stopping in to visit my sister, and I had something to discuss with you so I figured I’d stop by. Nothing urgent in this case.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, but he didn’t really feel any better. “That’s good, then. Um, I don’t want to take up too much of your time though, since you’re off right now, so what’s up?” Stiles crossed his own arms almost defensively, almost sliding off the end of the armrest and onto his plush armchair but managing to catch himself.

“Actually, it’s about your neighbour. Downstairs.”

“Am I walking heavy?” Stiles asked with a wince. “I, uh—I know I’m heavy-footed. I’ve been trying to be conscious of it.”

“No, nothing like that.” Derek shook his head and sighed. “Unfortunately, she’s a bit... sensitive. I think she likes the sound of her own voice, she complains a lot. Mostly to me, I think she’s scared of the strata.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably and Stiles braced himself for bad news. “Do you have a television or anything in your room?”

“No,” Stiles said slowly, uncertain of why he was asking.

“Own any game consoles?”

“I mean, I have an old XBox somewhere, but I haven’t played a game on a console in years. Why?”

“She says she keeps getting woken up at all hours of the night from loud shooting, like someone is playing a video game. Says it keeps her up until well past three in the morning almost every night.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up at those words, because he definitely wasn’t awake until three in the morning, and even if he was, it wouldn’t be from playing video games. It would be from reviewing things for work, or reading, or even watching a show on Netflix. But never loud enough that it would bother his neighbours. He used to live with the sheriff, and he also used to sneak out of the house—successfully, to boot!—so he knew how to be quiet. He also respected the people around him, which was why he hadn’t complained about upstairs. Usually they woke him up when they accidentally dropped something or stumbled. He wasn’t going to bitch out someone who hadn’t meant to wake him up.

“I’m really sorry, and that sucks that she’s being kept awake late at night but uh, it’s not me.” He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m not shy about admitting when I’m in the wrong, but I’m definitely not awake at three in the morning, not with the work schedule I have. Is it possible it’s coming from downstairs?”

Derek sighed, like this was inconvenient for him. Like he was frustrated to even be bringing it up, but he had to because it was his job. “She was pretty adamant it was coming from you. Said the ceiling shakes sometimes with how loud things get up here.”

“Uh, short of jumping up and down in my bedroom, I don’t know how I could make her ceiling shake,” Stiles said with a wince. “I’m sorry to hear about this, but it’s really not me.”

“I’ll speak to her again. See what other information I can get out of her.” He sighed again, rubbing at his perfectly manicured beard. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?”

“Nah, I shouldn’t,” Stiles insisted, waving one hand and getting to his feet. He noticed Derek’s shoulders droop slightly at that, but didn’t pay any attention to it. “I have plans today, anyway. Should get started on that.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

“Just heading out with a buddy of mine. We’re gonna catch a movie and then grab dinner with our own folks. He moved out of his place a while ago to live with his girlfriend, so his mom and my dad have been missing us.” Stiles grinned. “We figure we should drop in every now and then to make sure they don’t miss us _too_  much.”

Derek laughed, shaking his head. “I think my parents wish I’d _stop_  dropping in, but it’s my mom’s fault for cooking amazing food.”

“Do they live close by?”

“Yeah, about twenty minutes by car. Out by the Preserve. My younger sister is still mooching off them, but when a place she likes opens up around here, she says she’ll move so she can at least be close to my other sister and I.”

“That’s really cool, having all of you in one place. It’ll make your parents visiting easier, anyway.”

“It would,” Derek agreed with a smile. It looked like he was trying to find something else to say, but Stiles felt bad. He didn’t want to take up more of his time than he already had, _especially_  on a day off, and also considering he’d just learned Derek was anti-social.

He figured he’d just save him from feeling the need to chit chat and clapped his hands together. “Well, thank you for letting me know about downstairs. I’ll try my best to keep quiet as much as possible, but the gaming is not me, I swear.”

“Oh,” Derek said quietly, looking a little disappointed before he managed a smile. “I believe you. Sorry again for waking you, but I’ll speak to her and see if we can’t sort this out.”

“Thanks. And if you need anything from me, feel free to stop by anytime.” Really, having Derek around would be a treat, so he didn’t mind if he came by to deliver news, whether good _or_  bad.

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Stiles waited, and wondered if maybe Derek wasn’t good with social cues, because he didn’t move. Eventually, Stiles rocked forward on his feet, hesitated, then finally stepped forward, moving past him towards the apartment door. Derek followed behind him and Stiles got the door open, holding it for him and smiling again.

“Have a good Saturday! I hope nothing urgent requires your attention over the weekend.”

“Thanks, Stiles.” Derek exited the apartment, turning slightly to nod once. “I’ll see you around. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Stiles winked, then waved and shut his door. He gave himself a second to stand there, listening to Derek’s footsteps pad away, and then banged his head hard against the door, groaning loudly.

He couldn’t believe he’d fucking _winked_  at him! Stiles only did that when he was being sarcastic, being a little shit, or he had something in his fucking eye! This was terrible, he’d probably made the worst impression.

Not to mention he’d only been there for a few weeks and already he had a noise complaint. That just wasn’t fair, he was _not_  the one playing video games until three in the morning! Fuck, he _wished_! That sounded like the life. Probably some rich boy living in the apartment next door or something.

Then again, Stiles figured he’d be able to hear it if that was the case. The fact that he didn’t made him really wonder if it wasn’t the neighbour below her. He was on the fourth floor, so it was possible it could be someone on the second.

“Whatever, it’s not you,” he told himself, locking his door and letting out a deep sigh before moving slowly towards his kitchen to find some breakfast.

He tried not to dwell on the noise complaint, and figured it was a one-off and it wouldn’t come up again.

After all, he wasn’t doing it. It would go away on its own.

* * *

“I mean, you’re pretty heavy-footed,” his dad said, fork hovering over the food on his plate, like he was trying to decide which was the lesser of all the evils present on it.

“It wasn’t about my walking, they said I was awake until three in the morning playing video games,” Stiles argued, stabbing angrily at his food.

He’d been stewing about his conversation with Derek for a majority of the day once the building manager had left him. He’d felt bad for his downstairs neighbour at first but as the day progressed, he was slowly become angrier and angrier with the conversation. Mostly because he didn’t like Derek thinking he was an inconsiderate asshole.

After all, he didn’t know how long the lady had been living there, and while Derek had said she was very sensitive and implied she was difficult, if she’d been there for a long time, he was more likely to believe her than Stiles. And that really bothered him because he didn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side right out of the gate.

Especially not Derek’s, because as far as he knew, Derek was kind of a big deal. Everyone always talked about how amazing he was and how he solved all the problems in the place. Which was interesting, considering what he’d told Stiles earlier that morning, but he didn’t dwell on that too much. Derek probably forced himself to be more social with the people he worked for. Which was all the tenants, considering his position.

Stiles found it interesting that Derek owned in one of the buildings he himself managed. What did he do when something went wrong in his own unit? Call himself?

Evidently he resolved his own problems, but it had to be frustrating not being able to call someone else to fix the problem. That was something his dad always griped about considering he owned a house, and he’d always said one day Stiles would understand the frustration of having to solve his own household problems. Joke was on him, because now Stiles had Derek.

Well, not _had_  Derek. He wished, really, but he had _someone_  who could resolve all his household problems for him.

“Don’t let it bother you,” the sheriff insisted, seeming to finally choose a vegetable from his plate and taking a bite of it. “You’re not the one causing the problem, so you shouldn’t worry about it. It’ll resolve itself on its own.”

“But until it _does_ , Derek thinks it’s _me_ ,” Stiles whined. “I don’t want Derek to think it’s me!”

“Well, based on what you’ve said, I don’t think he believes it’s you. I think he just received a complaint, and he had to address it, regardless of what he himself believes.”

Stiles really hoped that was the case. He didn’t want to start his new life living alone by having to deal with everyone thinking he was inconsiderate. Not only that, and he’d never admit it to his dad, but he didn’t want people to think the sheriff hadn’t raised him right. He’d had to take care of Stiles on his own since Stiles was nine years old, on top of being a sheriff. In Stiles’ opinion, he’d done a phenomenal job, and he didn’t want anyone to question his father’s parenting. He’d done what he could with what he had, and Stiles felt like he’d turned out all right.

“Don’t worry about it,” the sheriff said again. “You usually gush about Derek, so why don’t we focus more on that instead?”

Stiles let out a small laugh, shaking his head and taking another bite of his food. He’d been ranting and raving about the noise complaint all day, first to Scott, and now to his father. He supposed it was time to let the topic die and move on to something else.

“I’d love the opportunity to speak to him more often, but he’s always running around doing things, and he’s such a busy guy.” Stiles shrugged. “He’s in charge of four buildings, and with over fifty apartments apiece, I don’t know how he has enough time to stay sane.”

“Even he gets time off,” his dad argued. “If you want to get to know him, just ask him out to coffee.”

“I can’t just _ask_  him out to coffee,” Stiles insisted, appalled. “Do you know what the dating scene is like nowadays? Brutal. _Brutal_ , dad! Remember Lydia?”

“Lydia was out of your league,” his father argued with a small smile.

Stiles let out an offended sound, slapping one hand to his chest. “Ouch! Et tu, dad?”

“High school is different from adulthood, Stiles. If you don’t put yourself out there, you’re not going to find someone. They aren’t just going to fall into your lap.”

“That’s what you said about the job I now have,” Stiles insisted with a smirk. “ _And_  having to take care of my own household problems. If I sit back and wait, a significant other will fall right into my lap and I won’t have to do _anything_.”

His dad rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue, probably because he really didn’t have a leg to stand on in this case. With Stiles’ luck the way it was, he probably _would_  have someone fall into his lap.

It wasn’t that Stiles was lazy or indifferent, it was just that he didn’t think he was worthwhile most of the time. He’d gotten his degree and his tickets for his engineering, but then hadn’t even applied anywhere because he kept looking at the qualification requirements and he didn’t meet any of them. He’d just sat waiting for a job he thought he would actually have a chance at, and one day he’d been out shopping and had bumped into some guy—who happened to be Chris Argent. They’d started talking, Stiles didn’t even know how or why, and by the end of the conversation, he suddenly had a job. He remembered coming home feeling a little shell-shocked, and had thought it was all a dream until he’d received a call the next morning asking him to come down when he was able to sign off on all the paperwork.

A job had _literally_  fallen into his lap.

And same thing with the apartment. Sure, he’d gotten it when he had no reason to win the bidding war because of his father, but he’d still _won_. He’d still managed to snag it out from under other people who’d probably been willing to pay well over asking price.

And, of course, there was the Derek aspect. His father had always insisted Stiles needed to know how to resolve his own problems, and who to call and whatnot, and now Stiles didn’t even need any of that. If he had a problem, he only had to call one person, and that one person would call whoever was needed to fix his problem.

Given his amazing track record since graduating university, Stiles felt inclined to believe that he could just sit back and wait and, sure enough, he’d have a boyfriend or girlfriend before the end of the year. Or maybe the end of next year, he should be a bit more realistic.

“You should come by sometime later in the week,” Stiles told his dad. “You know, to have dinner at _my_  place.”

“But if I eat here without you present, I can eat whatever I want.”

Stiles gave him a look for that, but the sheriff just laughed and agreed he’d stop by sometime in the week. That meant Stiles had to clean up a little bit, but he’d survive. It was good having an excuse to clean up, since he tended to procrastinate it a lot.

“And I mean it,” the sheriff insisted. “Don’t dwell on the noise complaint. It will resolve itself. They’ll find the culprit, or the problem if it’s not a person, and you won’t hear of it again.”

Stiles nodded, taking another bite of food. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just let it go, and it’ll all work out.”

After all, most things did.

* * *

Stiles stood staring at the milk for far too long, contemplating how badly he needed it and if he could afford to wait until tomorrow. He’d driven home from work, but the traffic was so horrific in this area of Beacon Hills that he’d parked in his space and then walked the ten minutes down the road to the store.

Normally he’d drive so he could load up, but he wasn’t interested in being stuck half an hour for a ten minute walk just to get groceries, but now he was standing debating if he wanted to lug a four litre of milk home or just hope he had enough for his cereal in the morning.

Deciding he could handle bringing home a one litre, he pulled that out instead and figured he’d stop at the store later in the week to get a full four litre one.

Putting it into his basket, he continued through the store for some items to buy that wouldn’t break his back to walk home with, and then headed for the checkout. Placing everything on the conveyer, he waited while the guy in front of him paid and finished up, then make small talk with the cashier while they put his items through.

Once he had his bags in his hands, he turned wide and almost bashed into someone. He managed to stop himself in time, and was mollified at knowing the other man also hadn’t been paying attention, if the way he’d come up short and darted to the side to avoid hitting him was any indication.

“Sorry about that,” he said, then seemed to start. “Stiles.”

“Derek. Hey.” He managed a small smile, always happy to bump into Derek unexpectedly. “How are you?”

“Honestly? Glad the day’s over. It’s been a rough one, I barely had time to come get groceries.” He motioned the bags he was holding while the two of them headed for the door.

“At least you managed, right? Glad the store didn’t close on you.” Stiles teased, because he knew Derek worked long hours and he likely got bothered every second of the day.

Derek laughed while they exited the store, agreeing that he was fortunate, and Stiles headed for the road so he could walk home. He expected Derek to head for his car, starting to say goodbye to him, but surprisingly he followed Stiles out towards the street.

“Didn’t drive?” Derek asked him before Stiles could do the same.

“I was stuck in traffic the whole way home from work, no way was I risking driving and being stuck in _more_  traffic,” Stiles admitted, shaking his head. “You?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I walk to the store when I go so I have an excuse to take a while to get back.” Derek offered him a small smile. “I don’t really get much of a break in this job, so I take the small moments of silence while I can.”

“Fair enough.” Stiles turned down the sidewalk to head for home, Derek keeping in step beside him. “I know you said you’re not very social, so we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind with you,” Derek admitted, offering him another small smile. “We’re close in age, so it’s not like I need to censor myself like I do with other people.”

“Censor yourself about what?” Stiles asked curiously.

Derek shrugged, bags crinkling in his hands at the action. “Everything? Politics, media, sexuality, the works.”

“Ah, I feel you there,” Stiles admitted. “Though to be fair, that’s not even a guarantee for people in our own generation. I got dumped by a girl who didn’t like that I was bisexual. Said she was too scared I’d love the dick so much I’d ditch her for a dude.” He rolled his eyes at the stupidity of her comment.

Normally, he wouldn’t openly admit his sexuality to someone he didn’t know very well, but he kind of had ulterior motives in saying so. He wanted to know if Derek was homophobic, first off, and he also wanted to see if Derek would respond in kind and let him know if he even had a chance.

Not that someone like Derek was single, but even just _knowing_  if he was into dudes or not would be amazing.

“People like that are the worst,” Derek muttered in agreement, shaking his head. “Honestly, same thing happened to me, but the other way around. I was with a guy and he dumped me because he thought I’d leave him for a girl.”

“This is why bisexual people should only date each other,” Stiles teased, nudging him lightly and waggling his eyebrows. Derek laughed, but he didn’t deny it, and Stiles took that as a win, even though he didn’t know that Derek was single.

At least he knew he was bisexual, which was a huge win overall.

“Does that mean you’re dating a bisexual individual?” Derek asked him, voice almost drowned out by a car passing by with loud music blaring.

“Nah, been working too much to go out and meet someone,” Stiles admitted. “I’m kind of hoping someone will just fall into my lap. It’s actually a running joke with my dad.”

“And how is that working out for you so far?” Derek asked.

“Not great, but you know, the day’s still young.” Stile let out a small laugh, and was trying to figure out how to ask Derek if _he_  was single, but it wouldn’t work without it being obvious in his mind, so he opted for, “How was your day today?”

“Busy.” Derek shifted a bit closer to Stiles when another car passed them a little too close to the curb. “Really busy. Always is, but some days feel worse than others. My phone’s been buzzing in my pocket since we started walking.”

“Oh.” Stiles looked down at his pants without meaning to. The jeans he wore were so tight he could see the outline of Derek’s phone in his front pocket. “Did you need to get that, or...?”

“If it was urgent, they’d call. Texts tend to just be complaints.”

“Speaking of complaints,” Stiles said, remembering the noise complaint from the lady downstairs. “Anything from my neighbour?”

“What?” Derek turned to him, looking confused.

“The noise complaint?”

“Oh.” Derek avoided his eye, shrugging one shoulder. “Uh, nothing yet, no.”

“That’s good, at least.” Stiles didn’t like his reaction, it made him feel like Derek wasn’t telling him the whole story. Maybe she _had_  complained but he’d argued with her and just didn’t want Stiles to know? He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to push it.

He could tell Derek didn’t want to talk about his job, so he instead moved on to another topic of discussion, asking him about his schooling and whether or not he’d grown up in Beacon Hills.

Turned out he had, but he and his sisters were all home-schooled, which was why Stiles didn’t know any of them from school. They had a few friends in town, but most of their close childhood friends were actually in the next county over. Stiles and Derek began to argue the pros and cons of being home-schooled, and Stiles ended up winning by the smallest margin. Derek had admitted being home-schooled was very lonely sometimes, and he half-blamed it for his inability to go out and make friends the way his sisters did.

Apparently both of his sisters were extremely outgoing and people loved being around them because of their positive energy. Derek felt like he didn’t have that, though Stiles argued that he was doing pretty well with him. Derek just smiled at that but didn’t say anything further.

“What was the dating scene like being home-schooled?” Stiles asked, honestly curious. “I mean, high school is the worst when it comes to dating, but I’d imagine you didn’t have as much of an opportunity to meet people?”

Derek shook his head. “Not really. Outside of family friends, it was hard to feel comfortable dating people. It actually turned into a problem for me.” When Stiles gave him a weird look, he explained, “I made some bad decisions in my youth. Pretty much agreed to get with anyone who showed me the slightest bit of attention. Being the middle kid made me feel like I was never important to my parents, and it made me a little... irresponsible.”

“Oh.” Stiles figured they could leave that topic there. “Sorry to hear that.”

Derek just shrugged one shoulder again. Stiles felt like he did that a lot as a means to not have to voice how he was really feeling. He didn’t mind, he just didn’t think it was particularly healthy.

They turned onto the road leading up to where their little compound of apartment buildings were, and Stiles was actually sad to know they would be parting ways. He really liked speaking to Derek, he was fun and interesting, and he felt like they complemented each other exceptionally well. But he was a busy guy, and it wasn’t like he was being nice to Stiles because he liked him.

Sure, maybe he liked him as a person, but Stiles wasn’t delusional enough to think there was anything more between them, much as he’d like there to be.

“Well,” Stiles offered hesitantly, “I’m sure whoever you’re with now makes sure you know you’re amazing.”

Derek laughed bitterly at that. “With this job? The last person I dated dumped me after two weeks because I was always too busy for them. I figure I’ve got work, it’s enough for me.”

“For now,” Stiles argued. “Work’s never going to give you everything you need.”

“Maybe, but for the moment, it’s all I have. That and family.”

“And friends?” Stiles offered hesitantly.

Derek smiled at him and nodded. “And friends. A few good ones. Hopefully a few new ones, too.”

Stiles liked to think he was talking about him, and he smiled and nodded to show his agreement, even if that wasn’t what Derek meant.

They’d reached the road where they would need to split up between the four buildings, Stiles stopping. Derek did the same, cocking an eyebrow at him in inquiry.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” Derek said, frowning slightly.

“You’re not how I thought you’d be.”

“How did you think I’d be?” Derek asked with a small smile.

“I don’t know. Grumpy?”

Derek laughed. “Oh, I’m plenty grumpy, ask my sisters. I have resting bitch face, which doesn’t help. But I’m grumpy, I promise. Just not with you.”

“Because you technically work for me?” Stiles teased.

“Because talking to you is easy,” Derek corrected. “I don’t know, maybe it’s our ages, or maybe it’s just that you have positive energy, but talking to you is really nice.”

“Well, you know where I live if you ever wanna stop by for a chat,” Stiles offered, hinting fairly heavily that he’d be _more_  than okay with that.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Stiles was sure he’d imagined the lightning-fast once-over he got after that comment. Then Derek reached into his pocket and Stiles realized his phone was ringing. He sighed while staring at the screen, then looked up at Stiles. “Duty calls.”

“I won’t keep you. Have a good night.”

“You too.” Derek answered the call and put the phone to his ear, turning away from Stiles. “This is Derek.”

Stiles watched him walk away towards one of the other buildings, but he didn’t stick around to see which one he lived in because he wasn’t a creeper, thank you very much.

Even if he really, really, _really_  wanted to know.

For now, he knew Derek was single, and he was bisexual. It was more than he’d known yesterday.

“Small victories,” he said to himself while heading for his building. “It’s all about small victories.”

* * *

Stiles was going to regret this so badly. Why had he done this to himself? Why had he been stupid enough to do this to himself? He knew how he got, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop until he was finished, so why on _earth_  had he thought this was a good idea?

“I hate myself,” he insisted, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from shifting more comfortably against the headboard of his bed, phone clutched in his hand and eyes tracing over the words on his screen.

It was almost eleven, and he knew he needed to sleep since his alarm went off bright and early at six in the morning for work, but he’d been stupid enough to click on a fic that was over one-hundred thousand words, and he was so engrossed now that he couldn’t stop reading it.

He felt like it would literally _kill him_ to put the phone down, because bad, bad things were happening and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without obsessing until he knew for sure his favourite character was going to be okay.

But this author was fucking _brutal_  because every time he got to the end of a paragraph and was positive he could breathe easy enough to sleep and continue tomorrow, the end of every section was a fucking _cliffhanger_! It was like this person _wanted_  Stiles to be sleep deprived!

Cruel. Utterly cruel. Horrifically cruel. He was going to leave this author a piece of his mind in the form of love and adoration but also bitch them out for the lack of sleep. Which he acknowledged was entirely his own damn fault.

The phone was brought even closer to his face while he read, whispering quietly for the character not to be an idiot because it was _never_  a good idea to walk into a dark, creepy cave, no matter _what_  bullshit explanations the other guy gave. He was so engrossed, almost holding his breath, that the knock on his door had him literally jump and almost throw his phone in fright.

Thankfully, he managed to stop himself from hurling it across the room, because that would be problematic for his wake-up tomorrow given his phone was his alarm clock.

Clutching it to his chest, heart beating frantically, it took his brain a few seconds to piece together what had just happened. He frowned, wondering who could be knocking so late, and figured he’d imagined it when the knock came again, slightly louder this time.

Setting his phone down on his nightstand, Stiles hurried for his bedroom door, grabbing a random shirt on his way by his dresser and yanking it on since it was warm enough for him to sleep without a shirt on now. He shuffled out into the hallway, turning on the light, and headed to the front door in his pyjama pants and loose shirt. He peeked through the peephole once he’d reached it to see who was there before risking opening his door.

Frowning, he pulled away and unlocked the door, opening it and looking out at Derek.

He looked a little tired, like he’d had a long day and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep. He managed a small smile for Stiles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hello Stiles.”

“Hey Derek,” he said quietly, then motioned him into the apartment. It was late, and he knew his voice carried, so he’d rather they speak behind his closed door so as not to disturb the other people on the floor.

Derek walked in gratefully, shoulders a little slumped. He really did look exhausted, and he was still fully dressed, which suggested to Stiles he wasn’t done with his day. Which wasn’t fair, because he knew Derek started ridiculously early in the morning. This job was going to kill him.

“Sorry to come by so late,” Derek said once they’d moved further into the unit. “I wouldn’t have, except when I circled the building I saw that your light was still on, so I knew you were awake.”

“It’s all good,” Stiles insisted. “Probably for the best, I really should be sleeping. I just got really engrossed in a—book.” He’d almost admitted he was reading fanfiction, and while he knew a majority of people his age did—even if they didn’t admit it—it felt embarrassing admitting that to someone like Derek. _He_  probably didn’t read fanfiction.

“You like to read?” Derek asked, seeming to energize a bit more at the idea that Stiles liked books.

Which he did! Stiles loved reading. Books, comic books, fanfiction, whatever. Stories in general were interesting, he didn’t care what medium they came in.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know I mostly have comics in my living room, but I have a Kindle so I tend to do most of my reading on that.”

“What kind of books do you like?” Derek asked curiously, leaning back against Stiles’ kitchen counter and crossing his own arms.

“I’m pretty flexible, I’ll read just about anything with a good plot or great characters. I was really obsessed with Rick Riordan a few years ago because he kept putting out all these books about mythology and yes I _know_  they were technically for young adults, but I’m a sucker for a good book.”

“I’ve read Rick Riordan,” Derek admitted with a small smile. “I liked his Egyptian series the best.”

“What?” Stiles demanded. “No way. The Greek one was the _best_!”

“Too predictable,” Derek argued. “You knew what was going to happen because there was no way Percy was going to fall prey to Kronos.”

“I mean, okay fair, but I liked the fact that the characters were the _kids_  of the Gods as opposed to the Egyptian series where it was just the ancient Gods taking over.”

“Fair point,” Derek agreed. “However how much do people know about Egyptian mythology versus Greek or Roman? I just thought it was interesting learning all the different myths I hadn’t heard about before, and it made me feel more inclined to look them up so I could have a better understanding of them.”

Stiles nodded his agreement to that, because that was a fair point in itself, but he still had a soft spot for Percy Jackson.

“I’m surprised you didn’t start with _Harry Potter_ ,” Derek said with a small smile, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You got a problem with HP?”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “You just seem like someone who’d like magic.”

“And I do, but Percy has his own kind of magic. And I don’t _only_  read young adult books, you know.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I like adult books too. Stephen King, George R. R. Martin, Lee Child.”

“James Patterson?” Derek asked.

“Nah, too dry.”

Derek let out a small, startled laugh, almost like he couldn’t stop it from escaping him. “You can read Stephen King and George R. R. Martin, but _James Patterson_ is too dry for you?”

Stiles just flail-shrugged. “I’m a complicated person, all right? You have to have a certain amount of-of _oomph_  for me to get into your books.”

“What were you reading right now?” Derek asked curiously, smiling at him like he was amused by his odd taste in books.

Stiles stared at him for a few seconds. “Uh, new author.”

“What’s their name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Derek asked skeptically, giving him a disbelieving look.

Stiles deflated, crossing his arms again and trying to hunch in on himself. “Fine, I was reading fanfiction,” he muttered. “It’s a thing I do sometimes.”

“Fanfiction’s neat,” Derek offered. “Never got into it myself, but I see the appeal. Some famous authors started out in fanfiction. Like E. L. James.”

Stiles hissed at Derek, the other man looking startled. “We do not speak that name in this house.”

“Sorry?” Derek asked, a little confused. Stiles would’ve been embarrassed, except he had a huge beef with those books. It was a deplorable representation of BDSM and he didn’t like that so many people who weren’t familiar with the scene thought of it as gospel. It bothered him a lot, the same way books with poor LGBTQ representation bothered him.

“Those books were awful.”

“I’ve never read them,” Derek admitted. “I’ve heard mixed things, but they’re not my genre. If I wanted to read about sex, I’d honestly just watch porn.” Derek winced at his own words. “Not something I should just be blurting out without thinking.”

“Eh, who doesn’t watch porn?” Stiles asked, waving one hand dismissively. “Almost everyone watches porn, it’s not like there’s anything to be embarrassed about.”

Derek smiled at him gratefully, like he was glad Stiles was willing to embarrass himself with the admission as well just to make him feel better. Stiles grinned back, and was more than happy to stand there and stare longingly at Derek and his awesome muscles, which were bulging from the way his arms were crossed, but he had work tomorrow and so did Derek.

“So,” Stiles said, clapping his hands together once, “much as my interest in books and fanfiction is fascinating, I don’t imagine you’re here to learn about my likes and dislikes.”

He could see Derek deflating, the man looking tired all over again, like he would’ve much rather they continued chatting about books and fanfiction, and maybe even porn. He rubbed one hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head.

“Sorry, Stiles. I only came up because your light was still on, otherwise I would’ve waited until morning. The lady downstairs texted me a few minutes ago and said you were playing video games again.”

Stiles’ heart lodged itself in his throat, and he tried to think about whether or not he’d been loud while reading. He doubted it, he usually just hissed things under his breath, and aside from the potential shout he’d let out when Derek had knocked on his door, he couldn’t think of anything he’d been doing that would’ve made her think he was playing video games.

“Um, well I am clearly still awake,” Stiles acknowledged, “but I was definitely _not_  playing video games. I was reading quietly in my room. I mean...” Stiles motioned for Derek to follow him and led the way down the hall to his bedroom.

The door was still open, so he just shoved it a bit further and stepped into the room, turning to wait on Derek, and then motioning the area with a sweep of his arm. All he had in his room was his bed, a night table, his dresser and a lamp in the corner, which was currently on and illuminating his room. It was evidently the light Derek had seen from outside.

“I don’t have anything in my room. I mean, I have Netflix on my phone, but I don’t watch that at night, and even if I did, there’s no way it would be loud enough for anyone to hear it from another floor. Sometimes _I_ can barely hear it.”

“I believe you, you know,” Derek promised him. “I don’t think it’s you. But your light was on, so that was a strike against you in her eyes. If you’re still awake, you’re capable of making noise and keeping her up.”

“But I was reading,” Stiles argued. “I have the light on because it’s bad for your eyes to read a bright screen in the dark.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Derek said again, vehemently. “Stiles, I do not think it’s you, okay? I just need to pursue this until I can find the root of the problem. I’m really sorry, I just need you to be a bit patient with me while I sort this out.”

“Sure,” Stiles muttered, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, okay. Well, I’ll just go to sleep now, then. Should’ve been sleeping a while ago, to be honest, I just got really into what I was reading.”

“Don’t let this get to you.” Derek placed one hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. His hand was warm, heat seeping through the shirt Stiles was wearing. And he had big hands, good Lord. “I’m really sorry I came to bother you.”

“You’re just doing your job.” Stiles forced a small smile.

Derek didn’t say anything to that, he just nodded awkwardly without meeting his eye, then let his hand slide off Stiles’ shoulder, fingers running lightly along his arm before falling away by his wrist. Stiles motioned back towards the front door and Derek nodded, a little startled, as if having forgotten he was done now and should be leaving.

Stiles walked him out, they bid one another goodnight, and then Stiles shut and locked his front door. He stood in his hallway for a long while, anger and anxiety warring inside him at what had just happened.

He’d been fucking _reading_. In bed. He hadn’t been making any sounds whatsoever, whatever the lady could hear, it wasn’t fucking _him_! Maybe it was the pipes or something. He could hear the ones in his ceiling every now and then, and _maybe_  someone who wasn’t used to living in an apartment building might mistake the rattling and rush of running water for—well, not shooting in a video game, exactly, but _something_? Maybe she was assuming she knew where the noise was coming from when it was actually just pipes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered to himself, turning off the hall light and going to his room. “It’s not you. Don’t worry about it.”

He shut his bedroom door and pulled off his shirt, tossing it into a random corner of his room. Lying down in bed after plugging his phone in to charge and turning off his light, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, all the while continuing to insist to himself _not_  to worry about it.

Stiles worried about it all night.

* * *

“Maybe you should just talk to her. You know, go down and pull your charming young man act out, see if you can’t woo her into leaving you alone.”

“I haven’t had to do that in years, I probably can’t even remember _how_  to do it,” Stiles muttered, stabbing angrily into his salad.

Scott McCall flicked a random carrot at him in annoyance. “Won’t know until you try.”

The entire thing had been bothering Stiles for the past few days, ever since Derek’s second visit to his apartment to talk about the complaint. It had been almost two weeks since the first complaint, and three days since the second. Stiles kept oscillating back and forth between being furious at the lady, and being anxious to do _anything_  in his own home.

He was in desperate need of laundry, but it was only Thursday and he was too scared to run his machine because what if he wasn’t done before eight? Then the crazy lady might complain about it. So he was actually going to load it all up and go to his dad’s, which was _ridiculous_  and he shouldn’t _have_  to, but what else could he do?

He was scared and worried to do anything in his apartment after hours, now. He knew he had no reason to be, and his dad kept insisting he just continue to live his life as normal, but he couldn’t stop the anxiety slowly mounting whenever he did anything, firmly believing she would complain when he so much as sneezed too loudly.

It annoyed him, because he shouldn’t feel that way in his own home, but he couldn’t help it. He was just too eager to please so he was essentially changing his way of life to accommodate someone else for an issue he wasn’t causing. He recognized how stupid that was, but there was no way for him to stop himself.

Stiles didn’t want to think about it anymore, but it was pretty much all consuming. The only time he wasn’t focussing on it was when he was at work, because work was kind of an all-brain job for him to avoid fucking anything up. Hell, he usually didn’t even have time for lunch, but Scott had called almost begging for them to grab a bite because he’d just had to tell someone they needed to put their pet down and Scott was a gentle soul who didn’t handle things like that very well.

Why he thought being a vet was a good idea, Stiles didn’t know. He was good at it, but putting animals down was hard for _anyone_ , so it probably had Scott going home to sob into a tub of ice cream while his girlfriend shushed him and pet his hair. Stiles knew _he_  would be an inconsolable mess, so he couldn’t imagine how someone like Scott would fare.

“Dude, just stop stressing about it,” Scott insisted.

“Telling me to stop stressing about it is like me telling you not to breathe,” Stiles snapped, a little irately. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and it was affecting his mood. “You know I can’t just _not_  stress about it. I’m going to be obsessing about this until it gets resolved. The only upside to this whole thing is I get to see Derek.”

“I’m sure there are better ways to see Derek,” Scott argued. “Like, you know, telling him your fridge is broken or you’re locked out or something.”

“I’m not gonna _lie_  to him to get him to come over,” Stiles insisted, a little appalled. Sure, he’d _love_  to do that, but he would feel guilty about it. Derek was always so busy that the thought of lying to get him in his apartment felt horrible. He had so much to do on a daily basis that Stiles was glad for the few glimpses he got of him _without_  making up a cock and bull story to inconvenience him.

Besides, he needed to stay on his good side, or else Derek might side with crazy lady and he would get fined by the strata for being unreasonably loud. No, he would rather see Derek how he saw him now, noise complaint visits and all. At least he _saw_  him, that was nice, even if his visits weren’t always the greatest.

Scott tried to shift topics to something else, clearly wanting to get Stiles’ mind off what he was so obviously angsting about, but it was hard for him to focus on anything else. He was either mad about the crazy lady, or anxious about it. A part of him wondered if maybe it _was_  him. Maybe he was snoring really, _really_  loudly and that was the ‘gunshots’ the woman could hear at three in the morning? Except... Stiles didn’t snore. He never had. His family were not snorers.

Maybe it was his allergies? He had to clear his throat a lot in the spring because of all the pollen, and he knew it sometimes drove his deskmate crazy at work. Except it was the wrong time of year right now, and his allergies had actually been pretty good the past few years because of his allergy medication.

Every time he thought of what it could possibly be, he dismissed it almost as quickly. Maybe it was his door, except he wasn’t standing there opening and shutting his door all night. Maybe he was sleepwalking, except he’d definitely know that because he’d wake up somewhere different and also, he didn’t sleepwalk. Maybe his phone was randomly going off at weird hours, except if it was, he’d wake up for it long before anyone else did, considering it was on his nightstand right beside his head.

The only conclusion he could come to was that it _wasn’t_  him, no matter how hard he tried to think of what it could possibly be. He would have figured it out by now if it was. So he just needed to talk to her, and move on with his life.

He managed to get through the rest of his day at work, then sat in traffic for half an hour to get home, which he _still_  found ridiculous, because how were there enough people in Beacon Hills for _traffic_  to be a thing? He was adamant that traffic was just a social construct created by the government to make the working man angry about everything other than the government.

When he finally made it home, he was grumpy and tired, and the last thing he wanted to do was visit his neighbour _but_ , he was determined. So he took the elevator up to the third floor from the garage, went to the applicable apartment, 318, and knocked firmly on the door.

He didn’t know what he was going to say, and the more seconds passed, the more anxious he became. What if she started yelling at him? What if she really _was_  crazy and started attacking him with a frying pan or something? What if she was a little old lady and she started screaming that he was trying to kill her?!

Most of his thoughts were far-fetched, but he was actually a little relieved when the door remained shut and the apartment beyond was silent. The woman likely wasn’t home, which meant he could escape this colossal blowout and think of a better way to handle this.

Derek had insisted he play go-between the first time they spoke about it, but Stiles knew how busy he was and he didn’t want to bother him. If he could solve this problem just between the two of them, then he’d be golden.

Not tonight though, clearly. Since lady wasn’t home. Whatever, he could figure it out later, for now he just wanted to go home and grab his laundry so he could drive to his dad’s.

A part of him felt like he should just do laundry at home because, for one thing, it was _his_  house and he should damn well be able to do fucking laundry! And for another, his neighbour didn’t seem to be home. But with his luck, she’d get home when he was in the middle of using the washing machine and the thumping of it against the wall or whatever would have her insisting he was playing the drums.

So he trudged up the stairs, too impatient to wait on the elevator, and headed for his apartment. He put all his things down once he was inside and then headed for his laundry, upending it into a garbage bag and then heading out the door.

It was a quicker drive to his dad’s than it had been getting home, probably because of the direction of traffic, and when he kicked open the door and walked through the front hall, his dad was sitting on the couch with a beer and a cocked eyebrow.

“Hello to you, too,” he said while Stiles walked past him.

Stiles just grunted, feeling grumpy, but he just wanted to get his laundry started before unloading on his dad. It didn’t take him long to dump all his clothes into the washer and get it started, and once he was sure the machine was running on the right cycle, he headed back out into the living room to fall down on the couch in his usual spot, his dad watching a football game on the screen.

“Washing machine broken?” he asked when Stiles said nothing for too long.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked uncertainly, bottle near his lips but not taking a sip. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I’d have thought you’d rather stay home after a long day of work.”

“Crazy lady might complain if I do laundry and I was out of underwear,” he muttered.

The long-suffering sigh that escaped his father told him everything he needed to know about his opinion of this entire situation.

“Stiles, you can’t stop living your life because of her. If she’s going to complain, she’s going to do it whether it’s coming from you or not.”

“Well, this way, she can’t complain about my laundry machine.”

“So that’s the plan now? You’re going to come here every time you need to do laundry?”

“No. I’ll do it on weekends.”

“What about your dishwasher?”

Shit, Stiles hadn’t thought of that. “Guess I’ll do that on weekends, too.”

“You only going to shower on weekends, then? Use your bathroom on weekends? Open and close the fridge door on weekends?”

Stiles just gave his dad an annoyed look, the man raising both eyebrows before taking a sip of his beer. He knew his dad was right, but for now, just until the complaints went away, he wanted to try and minimize his time at home. If he did, he could maybe pinpoint what the problem was.

Though he acknowledged the bigger problem was that he was usually sleeping at the times she was complaining. Though he _had_  been awake that last time.

“Whatever, I’ll deal with it,” Stiles muttered.

“Don’t let her dictate how you live your life,” his dad insisted, getting to his feet and patting his cheek lightly on his way past him. “Come on, let’s see what I’ve got for dinner.”

Stiles let out a slow breath, but obediently got to his feet to follow his dad into the kitchen. He would stop letting the crazy lady dictate his life when she stopped being _crazy_.

* * *

Stiles was half-asleep while he waited for the elevator doors to open. He had his messenger bag over one shoulder, and a coffee in his travel mug in one hand, but he didn’t think the coffee was helping him very much. Then again, he’d only had two sips of it, he should probably down it before attempting to handle any heavy machinery.

The doors opened and he trudged out, pushing through the door that led into the parking garage and making his way towards his Jeep. He frowned when he noticed Derek there, looking wide awake and wearing grey sweats, a white shirt, and sandals. He had his arms crossed and was speaking to someone Stiles recognized as one of the members of the strata. They both looked like they were in clothes they’d hastily thrown on at the last second. Derek’s hair was even sticking up on one side.

They both turned when he approached and the man thanked Derek and patted his shoulder once before muttering something about contacting Marin Morrell, their property manager. He walked away while Stiles hesitantly moved closer to Derek. His Jeep was in that direction, so he wasn’t snooping or anything, and Derek moved to meet him anyway.

“Morning,” he said uncertainly.

Derek smiled tightly. “Good morning, Stiles.”

“Uh, rough night?”

“Some people broke in last night,” Derek said with a sigh, raking one hand through his hair and looking around. “They mostly left the cars alone except for a few with visible electronics, but they got into the storage lockers and stole a lot of stuff. Mr. Harris is just going to speak to Morrell to get a notice out to all the residents.”

“Oh shit,” Stiles blurted out.

“Don’t worry, your stuff is fine.” Stiles gave him a weird look for that, since—how would Derek know? But he smiled and his next words explained a lot. “The police were just here a few minutes ago. Your dad was one of them and he checked on your stuff after we’d finished going through everything.”

“Oh.” Well that was nice of his dad, though unsurprising. “How long have you been awake?”

Derek let out a loud groan and rubbed at his face with both hands. “Too long. Three, maybe? Today’s going to be rough.”

Stiles stared at him, hesitated, then held out his coffee. Derek blinked down at it, hands still on his cheeks, and then gave Stiles a weird look. He just shrugged at him.

“You need it more than I do.”

“That’s really nice, but I—”

“No, seriously.” Stiles held it out more insistently. “It’s cool. You’ve had a rough night, and you’re going to have a rough day. Take it.”

Derek hesitated only a moment longer, then sighed and took it, giving him a grateful nod before opening the lid and taking a large swallow. When he pulled it away from his lips, he closed his eyes and let out a small sigh, like he felt better already, then opened his eyes once more and smiled at Stiles.

“Thank you. I’ll bring your mug back as soon as I can.”

“Eh.” Stiles waved one hand. “I’ve got tons, don’t worry about it. I just hope it helps.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking another sip. Stiles felt bad that he’d been up since three in the morning, and was now going to have to go through his day as if he _hadn’t_  already been up for over three hours. It sucked he couldn’t ever seem to catch a break.

“Heading to work, then?” Derek asked after likely draining half the mug.

“Yeah, bright and early,” Stiles said, raising one fist and giving a sarcastic cheer.

“Gotta make a living somehow,” Derek teased.

“Unfortunately. Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone could just go through life without having to pay for anything?”

“I don’t know, that seems like it could get dangerous.” Derek shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. “This is great coffee, by the way. What is it?”

“McDonalds, I think.”

“You think?” Derek asked, amused.

“I usually just go for whatever’s cheapest,” Stiles admitted. “Most of the coffee is good in its own way, so I try not to worry too much about getting anything extra special made with gold flakes and ground beans blessed by a virgin shaman warrior or whatever.”

Derek almost snorted into the coffee but managed to refrain, laughing and shaking his head. He looked a little more awake now, like the coffee and a more entertaining conversation were giving him his second wind.

“Fair enough. That sounds like pretty special coffee, though.”

“Eh, not my thing.” Stiles waved one hand again, then pulled his phone out to check the time. “Anyway, I need to head out or I’ll be late.”

“Right, of course. Work.” Derek winced. “Actually, uh—I was—with the complaints...”

Stiles’ stomach dropped and it must’ve shown on his face because Derek held one hand out urgently.

“No, no. There hasn’t been another one. Just—in case there is, I was thinking maybe it would be a good idea to get your number. You know, strictly for business purposes. In case I need to touch base with you. It’s also a good opportunity for you to get mine in case you need anything from me.”

Stiles could think of _many_  a thing he would like from Derek, but he shrugged the feeling off because it was rude. Yes, Derek was attractive, but he was also extremely kind and funny, and Stiles didn’t want to just look at him and see a handsome man. He wanted to be able to look past that and see his attractiveness as the bonus it truly was.

Forcing himself back to the task at hand, he obediently took his phone out while Derek leaned over him slightly, reciting his number. Once it was programmed into his phone, he sent a text to Derek, who pulled his own out and programmed Stiles’ into his own one-handed.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” Derek said, smiling down at his phone endearingly, which was a little strange in Stiles’ opinion, but he chalked it up to lack of sleep. “I’ll repay the favour sometime.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles waved one hand dismissively, heading towards his Jeep, walking backwards and smiling. “I hope it helps and that the rest of your day goes well.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a good day at work, too.”

“Thanks.” Stiles walked into the side of his Jeep, cheeks burning at the realization that Derek had just seen him do that, then waved again awkwardly and hastened to enter the vehicle. He shoved his bag onto the passenger seat while buckling himself in, and could see Derek heading towards the storage lockers again while sipping at the coffee.

Stiles slammed his head on the steering wheel the second Derek was out of sight, and almost gave himself a heart attack when he accidentally sounded the horn.

* * *

Two more weeks passed without any incidents from crazy lady, and Stiles was able to breathe a little more easily, now. He was still tip toeing around his apartment, and he still got anxious any time he flushed his toilet after nine at night, but slowly he was beginning to return to life as normal, which was a bit of a relief.

The only downside was that it meant he didn’t see much of Derek. Sure there was that one time he came home and Derek was out on his side of the building tending to the plants—shirtless, sweaty, covered in dirt, thank you very much for this gift—and another time he’d caught Derek in the lobby while the man was on his phone and gotten a smile and a wave, but aside from that, nothing.

Not that he _wanted_  to hear from Derek, since he was sure hearing from him would never be _good_  news, but still. Now that he had his phone number, Stiles kept staring down at his phone randomly during the week, trying to find an excuse to text him. They got along surprisingly well, and Derek was really nice and funny. Stiles wanted to get to know him more, but the man was always so _busy_.

Besides, even if he _did_  have a spare minute, Stiles doubted Derek would want to be spending it with him. He’d probably rather go home and fall onto his couch and just relax for a few precious seconds before being called out again.

Man, when the holidays came around in the winter, Stiles was _definitely_  buying him like, a bottle of vodka or something. He was going to get him a huge thank you gift, even though Derek hadn’t technically done anything for him personally yet. The guy definitely deserved it.

He was coming home from work later than usual one Friday afternoon, having stayed behind to help finish up a project with two other guys, when he noticed Derek standing on the curb with a woman. He assumed it was a woman, because he could only see her from the back. She had long dark hair, and was almost the same height as him.

They seemed to be having a heated, angry discussion, because he kept jabbing his finger angrily in front of him and the girl was throwing her hands in the air in frustration. Derek shook his head and it was clear he was scoffing, and his eyes caught Stiles’ through his windshield.

He winced slightly, but offered a hesitant wave. Derek just scowled at him and focussed back on the woman. Stiles pressed his lips together and hunched his shoulders while driving by, feeling like maybe he should’ve just pretended not to have seen him or something.

Parking in his usual spot, he headed for the elevator, then contemplated what to make for dinner on the way up. He still wasn’t sure when he reached his apartment, so he just dumped his bag on the counter and went to change out of his work clothes. Once he was comfortable in loose sweats and a random shirt, he went back to the kitchen and started perusing the contents of his fridge and pantry.

He had enough ingredients to make spaghetti, but did he feel like spending hours making the meat sauce right now? It was Friday, sure, but did he _really_  want to eat dinner that late? The sauce took forever, even if it was worth it.

He ho-hummed for a while before giving up and just grabbing some chicken to make fajitas. It would be faster, and fajitas were delicious. Moving to his computer to turn it on, he started up some music, making sure the volume stayed on the lower side, and went back to the kitchen to begin chopping onions and peppers while dancing a little at the counter.

Just when he dumped the vegetables into the pan to sear, he jumped at the loud knock on his door. It sounded angry, and he cursed to himself about how it was probably crazy lady downstairs coming up to bitch him out for the loud music.

He detoured to his computer quickly, hitting the spacebar to pause his music, and then rushed to his door. He didn’t have time to check who it was since he realized he’d just put vegetables onto a hot pan of oil, but it didn’t matter anyway since he opened the door to find Derek.

“Derek. Hey,” he said, a little startled.

“Hi Stiles.” He looked uncomfortable, hands tightening and loosening around what he held between them, and Stiles was positive he was here for bad news again. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Stiles moved aside so he could enter, then shut the door behind him. He hurried past him back into the kitchen so he could pull his pan off the heat, but Derek stopped him.

“No, you can finish up. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles promised, grabbing a wooden spoon and moving the food around so it could brown evenly. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I wanted to return this.” Derek set the object he’d been holding down on the counter. Stiles realized it was his travel mug from the morning of the break-in. “And apologize.”

“For what?”

“Earlier. I was rude when you waved, and I’m sorry. My sister just—really frustrates me sometimes.”

“Oh, that was your sister?” Stiles asked, surprised. He hadn’t known who the woman was, but a part of him had assumed it was an old girlfriend or something. “It looked like a pretty heated argument.”

“Yeah, we fight a lot,” he admitted. “She thinks she knows what’s best for me, but she doesn’t, so we tend to explode at each other more often than not.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Derek just shrugged, as he often did when he clearly didn’t want to talk about something. Stiles decided to keep the conversation going, but in another direction.

“So, how was work today?”

“Fine, I suppose.” Derek crossed his arms and watched Stiles while he worked. “Slower than usual today, actually. I think it’s because people are gearing up for summer. A few people are already gone, so it’s been a little less hectic.”

“That’s good,” Stiles admitted, deeming his vegetables were done and dumping them onto a waiting plate so he could use the same pan to cook his chicken. He threw that into the pan after oiling it a bit and winced at the sizzle, turning on the fan above the stove. It was loud, and that made him extremely anxious, but Derek didn’t say anything so he tried not to dwell on it.

“How was your day?”

“It was good,” Stiles said, nodding in agreement to his own words while moving the chicken around in the pan. “Ended up staying late to help finish with a project, but overall a good day. Glad it’s the weekend though.” He looked back at Derek. “You technically off the clock now?”

“In theory, but I’m never _really_  off the clock.” He pulled his phone out, as if to prove his point, but shoved it back into his pocket a moment later, either deeming the message unimportant, or something that could wait. “So, Stiles...”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning back to Derek briefly when he trailed off.

He waited while Derek just stood there staring at him, and then felt his heart sink when the man blurted out, “About the lady downstairs. She said it’s started up again. The noise.”

“Oh.” Stiles reached up to turn off the fan, but Derek moved up to him and grabbed his wrist before he could do so.

“No, don’t—it’s fine. Don’t worry about the fan.”

“I don’t know what else I can do to prove to her it’s not me,” Stiles insisted. He was working hard to keep his temper in check, as well as his anxiety. He’d thought no news was good news, but apparently not.

“ _I_ know it’s not you,” Derek promised. “I know it’s not you, Stiles. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right.” But he _did_  worry about it. He worried about it a lot, actually. He could feel his stomach twisting into knots again and he struggled to just focus on what he was cooking. Derek hadn’t let go of his wrist yet, but after a few more seconds, as if realizing he was still gripping him, he finally let go and cleared his throat, taking a step back.

“That smells good,” he offered, clearly trying to change the subject. “What are you making?”

“Fajitas,” Stiles said, propping his voice back up and offering him a smile. “You want one? If you’re not called away before they’re done.”

“You don’t have to feed me, Stiles.”

“I know.” He rolled his eyes, the chicken fully cooked through now so he dumped the vegetables back in and rooted through his spices for various fajitas ones. “But you’re here, and I’ll have lots. You’re more than welcome to have some.”

Derek was quiet for a moment before saying, “Sure. Thank you. That’d be really nice.”

“No problem.” He nodded towards the fridge. “Wanna pull out the salsa and sour cream? Should have some cheese in there, too. Not sure if it’s grated or not.”

Derek obediently went to the fridge and pulled the items out. He did have some grated cheese, which was a relief since he _hated_  grating cheese. He turned to pull his tortillas out of the pantry, asking Derek how many he wanted. When he got all cagey about it, Stiles decided on three for him and tossed five of them into the microwave for a few seconds just to get them warmed up before grabbing plates.

It felt surreal, having Derek in his apartment, making dinner for him. Well, it hadn’t started out that way, but it was turning _into_  it. And he was fine with that. Derek looked happy, having moved further into his living room so he could look at the books and movies he had, just like the first time he’d been there.

“Do you cook?” Stiles asked him, bending down to grab the warmed tortillas from the microwave and setting them all on one plate.

“Sometimes. Depends if I have time or not. If I do, then I try to as much as possible. If I don’t, I either order in, bug my parents or mooch off my sister.”

“Same sister you fought with?” Stiles asked before I could stop himself.

Derek let out a small laugh, moving back towards the counter and leaning forward on it across from Stiles. “Yeah, same sister I fought with. Couldn’t mooch food off her today, so I guess you’re saving me since I was too lazy to make dinner tonight.”

“Lucky you knocked on my door,” Stiles teased, turning the burner off and then the fan. He put one of the tortillas on a plate and passed it over to Derek, motioning for him to go first.

They had a little war about who was going to go first, since Derek refused to grab food before Stiles, but Stiles ended up winning by threatening to just make a fajita for him so Derek rolled his eyes like Stiles was the most uncooperative person in the world and started dumping salsa, sour cream and cheese onto his tortilla before going for the chicken and vegetables mix.

After making themselves a fajita each, Stiles stayed on the stove side of the counter while Derek leaned forward on the other side, taking a bite of his food. Stiles was a little nervous, since he liked his fajitas well enough, but he’d never actually made them for someone else before. Derek let out a pleased sound though, nodding and licking sour cream off his lips.

“It’s really good. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Stiles grinned and shoved a huge bite into his mouth.

It was hard for them to speak while they both ate, but Derek peppered him with questions between mouthfuls of food, mostly ranging from what it was like growing up with the sheriff, and where he’d gotten the Jeep since he rather liked it.

Surprisingly, they didn’t touch on Stiles’ mother, but he figured Derek probably knew the story. Most people did, since his dad was the sheriff and it was common knowledge his wife had died of cancer many years ago. Stiles appreciated that it didn’t come up, but he did ask Derek a bit about his family, since he didn’t know anything about the Hales.

Derek’s phone went off a few times while they ate and chatted, but he always just checked what was happening before putting it away. Either it was unimportant, or he was taking his ‘I’m off the clock’ to heart.

They had just moved into the new Marvel Cinematic Universe realm of discussion, Derek working on his third fajita as Stiles had predicted, when his phone went off again and this time he _did_  react. He stood up straighter, putting his fajita down so he could type with both hands before frowning, evidently waiting for a reply. When he got one, he typed something else out and then shoved it into his pocket.

“Sorry, duty calls.”

“Hey, I totally get it.” Stiles smiled, holding both hands up in surrender. “You’re in high demand, so it’s all good.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Derek said sincerely, picking up the last fajita and making sure the bottom was closed up so he could bring it with him. Stiles handed over a few paper towels and he nodded in thanks. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hey man, it was my pleasure,” Stiles insisted with a thrilled grin. He’d kind of sort of had dinner with Derek, so this was definitely a win in his book. “Thanks for stopping by to return the travel mug.”

“Sorry I had it for so long,” Derek insisted with a wince, heading for the door, Stiles following after him. “I meant to bring it back sooner, I just never got around to it.”

“It’s totally cool, dude.” Stiles pulled open the door for him, holding it so he could slip through and then leaning against it while Derek turned to face him. “And sorry you keep getting bothered by the lady downstairs. If I knew what was making the noise, trust me, I’d stop. Maybe I can go speak to her.”

“No,” Derek blurted out around a mouthful of food. When Stiles cocked an eyebrow at his reaction, he shook his head, chewing quickly so he could swallow. “She’s—well, I don’t want it to, uh, escalate. You know, just in case. Best this stays between you and me, and me and her. I want to be a buffer.”

“Okay,” Stiles acquiesced, despite not wanting to. But he trusted Derek, so he just smiled. “Okay, sure. Well, thanks again for stopping by. I hope you have a good night and work doesn’t keep you too long.”

“Thanks, you too. And really,” Derek held the fajita up while walking backwards, “thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” Stiles held up one hand in farewell, watching Derek walk away. Once he was through the door leading to the stairwell and out of sight, Stiles shut and locked his door, then grinned to himself excitedly.

He’d kind of sort of had dinner with Derek.

This was the _best_  night!

* * *

Stiles was positive crazy lady was the reason he wasn’t getting much sleep anymore. He kept waking up at all hours of the night, positive he was hearing something and wanting to pinpoint it, only to realize it was something in his dream and the area was silent.

When his alarm went off on Tuesday morning, he was ready to murder someone, except he didn’t want his dad arresting him because that would be awkward, so he settled for muttering angrily under his breath instead while crawling out of bed and stumbling to his bathroom. He let out a sharp cry when he stubbed his toe, then got anxious about accidentally waking up the lady downstairs.

He found it infuriating he was worried about bothering her while he was now injured on top of exhausted. She was literally ruining his life, and he hadn’t even met her. He fucking _hated_  her.

Going through his usual routine, he grabbed his coffee on his way out, resisting kissing his automatic and timer-setting coffee maker because that’d be weird, then headed out the door. He sipped at his morning wake-up call while he waited for the elevator, and stepped in once it arrived. He hit the parking lot button, and was in the process of taking another sip when the lift jerked and he almost choked on his drink.

The lights all went out at once, and Stiles had a few seconds to panic before the elevator moved again and the doors opened. The corridor beyond was dark save for emergency lights and Stiles frowned, jabbing at the buttons on the lift, but nothing lit up. He accurately concluded that the power had gone out, and figured the elevator was set up with a censor so that it would go to the closest floor and open the doors whenever there wasn’t any juice.

Stepping out into the corridor, he found he was on the second floor. Shrugging, he headed for the stairs, and had just started going down them to the garage when he found a huge flaw in his plan.

The garage door wouldn’t open without electricity. He couldn’t get out of the underground parking.

“Shit.”

He checked his phone for the time, and winced, because it was so incredibly early and he felt so, so, _so_  bad, but... he had to get to work. It wasn’t like cabs were a thing in a town like Beacon Hills, and he would be _super_  late if he had to walk to work. He only had one choice, and he hated doing it. He could only hope Derek was already awake.

 **[Stiles]**  
hey Derek  
**[Stiles]**  
its Stiles  
**[Stiles]**  
I am so so so so so so sorry if this woke you up  
**[Stiles]**  
but the powers out and I need to get my car out of the garage.........

He kept walking down the stairs slowly while texting, feeling like absolute shit for having to bother him so early, but even as he started another apology text, he paused in his typing because Derek had already replied.

 **[Derek]**  
Good morning Stiles :)  
**[Derek]**  
Don’t worry, was already up and getting ready to face the day.  
**[Derek]**  
Power’s out in my building, too. It’s probably block-wide.  
**[Derek]**  
Someone else already texted me about the garages, I’m going to get all four open asap.  
**[Derek]**  
I’ll head over to yours in two seconds.

 **[Stiles]**  
what would we do without you? :)

Stiles finished heading down the stairs and into the garage, moving over to the large gate and inspecting it. He knew there was a manual mechanic to get it open, but he couldn’t see it. It was really dark, which wasn’t going to help Derek any, either, though he supposed he could use his phone to help shine some light on it if need be.

He could hear clacking heading his way from the ramp, and when he looked up it, he saw Derek hurrying down it with a ladder over one shoulder. He looked wide awake and ready for the day, wearing his usual jeans and a dark T-shirt. His hair was damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and Stiles really hoped he wasn’t still _in_  it when the power went out.

Considering he’d texted back immediately when Stiles had texted him, he doubted it. Derek was probably already on his way over whenever Stiles had sent him a message.

Which was weird, because there was no one else in the garage, but Derek confirmed someone had already texted him.

He went to open the small pedestrian door, holding it open out of the way so Derek could move through it quickly with a small smile.

“Hell of a way to start your day, huh?” he asked, moving quickly to the mechanism that controlled the gate and setting the ladder down.

“No kidding. Yours too.”

“It happens,” Derek offered, moving the ladder where he wanted it and climbing it quickly. Stiles moved to hold the other side of it while Derek pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He’d clearly done this before, because he was prepared, with a set of keys and a screwdriver appearing from his pockets.

“I thought you said someone else texted,” Stiles said, looking around again for this invisible person.

“They did,” Derek said around the flashlight in his mouth. “I came here first.” He glanced down at Stiles, managing to smile around what he had in his mouth. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Stiles tried really hard not to feel super good about that, but he didn’t think he succeeded. A ridiculous smile crept onto his face and he had to duck his head to avoid Derek seeing how pleased he was at hearing that. Made his whole shitty night and terrible morning better.

“I appreciate it,” Stiles said, feeling warmth in his chest. “Guess I owe you more fajitas.”

“I won’t say no to that,” Derek agreed, pulling the flashlight from his mouth and tucking it back into his pocket after turning it off. “Help me with the gate?”

Stiles waited for Derek to descend the ladder before letting it go, and they both went to stand on either end of the gate. It helped they were almost the same height, because they pushed it up almost the entire way, Derek having to jump at the end to force the gate to click into place. He asked Stiles to move into the middle and just keep his hands up in case the latch didn’t catch, then hurried back to drag the ladder to one side, climbing it quickly to check the latch and then wedge a bolt into place. He then did the same on the other side, wiping sweat off his brow from the quick movements when the weather was already warm out.

“Not ideal, keeping the gates open all day for all four buildings, but until the power’s back, it’s the best I can do.”

“Did you need help with the other buildings?” Stiles asked, pulling his phone out to check the time.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. I’ve done this a few times before, and while it’s easier with a second pair of hands, I can manage on my own.”

“Are you sure? I have time.”

“Thanks Stiles, but it’s okay. Head on to work.”

“Okay. Thank you!” Stiles moved to head to his Jeep so he could get going, but turned back to Derek when he said his name.

For a few seconds, Derek stood there with the ladder, staring at him. Stiles raised his eyebrows in inquiry, waiting for him to continue, but Derek just shook his head and picked the ladder back up.

“Nevermind,” he said quickly, avoiding his gaze. “We can—it’s not important. I’ll talk to you later.”

Stiles felt his chest constrict at the words, watching Derek wave and hurry away with the ladder to help the next person get out of their garage. It meant things still weren’t going well with the noise complaint, and Stiles was still, apparently, doing something _wrong_.

He felt like he had a stone in his stomach the entire drive to work. This noise complaint business was _not_  helping his anxiety.

* * *

Stiles knocked loudly and incessantly on the door in front of him, trying to stave off the panic attack that was threatening to rise. He wanted to go home, so badly, but he couldn’t because his dad wasn’t home and if he went home and was alone and had a panic attack, that wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Instead, he just stood in front of a plain white door at almost midnight, knocking insistently until he heard shuffling on the other end. Scott pulled open the door, hair a dishevelled mess and eyes puffy with sleep.

“Stiles?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes and yawning so wide his jaw cracked. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not,” Stiles insisted, feeling his breath coming sharper and a lot more shallow.

Scott looked instantly awake, as if recognizing the signs of Stiles’ slow descent into panic, and he hastily ushered him into his apartment, shutting the door and locking it behind him. His girlfriend called something sleepily down the corridor and Scott told her everything was fine and to go back to bed.

Stiles made it to the couch, Scott having to grab his arm to stop him from slamming into the coffee table. Once he was seated, he buried his face in his hands and struggled to calm himself down, clenching his fingers in his fringe.

“Stiles?” Kira Yukimura was on the couch beside him instantly, Scott having moved away to grab him some water, if the cupboards opening and running faucet were any indication. Kira placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Stiles, are you okay?”

“Here.” Scott sat on his other side, holding water in his line of sight, though Stiles made no move to take it. “Stiles, drink it. It’ll force you to stop breathing and it’ll stop the attack.”

It was a trick they’d perfected in middle school when Stiles had panic attacks shortly after his mother’s death. It had been a rough couple of years, but Scott was always there for him through every one at school.

Forcing his fingers to unclench, Stiles grabbed the glass and sat up a bit straighter, forcing himself to drink the whole thing down, his lungs burning. When he finally swallowed the last drop, he gasped in a huge breath, coughed once, and then forced himself to match Scott’s breathing beside him.

Kira’s hand had moved to rub his back and Scott had shifted one of his own to squeeze tightly at Stiles’ shoulder, the two of them trying to give him space but sticking close at the same time.

“What happened?” Kira asked, placing her chin on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“I fucked up at work,” Stiles admitted, sniffing loudly and rubbing at his face with his free hand. “It was—it was bad. Chris was _pissed_. I thought he was going to fire me on the spot. I stayed until past ten to fix it, but I don’t—I’m not sure I’ll still have a job tomorrow, and if I don’t, I’ll be _fucked_.”

“Stiles, it’s gonna be okay,” Scott insisted fiercely. “People make mistakes, it happens. It’s the first one you’ve ever made, I’m sure Chris was just reacting to the situation, it’s fine. You’ll go in tomorrow, and everything will be normal again.”

“You fixed it, right?” Kira said gently, still rubbing his back. “You made a mistake, and you fixed it. It’s okay. He’ll be okay with it. People make mistakes, Stiles.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles admitted, pressing his hand harder against his eyes. “I can’t—work is so stressful right now. I feel like I’m dying. And then I come home, and that fucking crazy ass _bitch_  won’t stop complaining about something I’m _not_  doing!”

He felt Scott’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “Did she complain again?”

“I’d literally just walked in the door, used the bathroom, and was about to grab food since I hadn’t eaten and was fucking _starving_ , and I get a text from Derek.” He shifted the hand away from his eyes so he could rake it into his hair. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t work all day and be stressed to the limit, only to go home and be stressed to the limit there. I’d _just_  walked in, and apparently I was being too fucking loud! I can’t!” He turned to look at Scott. “Scotty, I fucking _can’t_!”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Scott shifted to wrap his arm around Stiles, Kira still rubbing his back. “It’s okay, we’ll figure it out. For now, just stay here tonight, okay? You can stay here, and if crazy lady complains tonight, you have alibis that you weren’t even home and she can fuck right off.”

Kira was nodding on his other side, the action evident in the way her chin shifted against his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about her,” Kira agreed. “And don’t worry about work. Chris loves you, you’re his golden child. You made a mistake, it happens.”

“Made a fucking mistake because I’m _sleep-deprived_ because lady is fucking _crazy_ ,” he snapped viciously.

“Exactly,” Scott said vehemently. “Don’t worry about her. She’s got issues, forget about her. Just live your life and she can go fuck herself.”

“Have you spoken to the strata or the property manager?” Kira asked soothingly. When he shook his head no, she said, “You should. At least the property manager. Just tell them your side, explain how it’s affecting your life, and ask them how to move forward. Tell them it’s negatively impacting your work.”

“We’ve got your back, Stiles,” Scott promised. “This will sort itself out. It will.”

“Right,” Stiles muttered, rubbing at his face again and clearing his throat. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—I didn’t want to stay there, and dad’s working. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“It’s totally fine,” Scott promised. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab you a blanket.”

He got up to do just that, Kira still pressed against his side with her chin on his shoulder and her hand rubbing smoothly up and down his spine. When Scott returned, she pulled away, kissing his cheek before standing so that Scott could dump a pillow on one end of the couch and hand over a blanket.

Stiles nodded in thanks, apologized again, and Scott made sure he was truly okay before he and Kira bid him goodnight and headed back to their bedroom, Scott detouring to lock the front door. Stiles took his shirt and pants off, lying down in his boxers and covering himself with the blanket while he stared at the ceiling. Every few seconds, his brain would return to the royal fuckup he’d done at work, but he just convinced himself that if Chris was going to fire him for it, he’d have done it on the spot.

And he’d fixed it. Kira was right, people made mistakes. He’d fixed it. It was fine. And he wouldn’t have panicked so bad if not for the text from Derek the second he got home. He hadn’t even responded to him. He couldn’t. He was going to lose his fucking mind if he even tried, so Stiles forced himself to close his eyes and struggled to sleep.

Everything was fixable. Everything was fine.

He was _fine_.

* * *

Stiles scrolled idly through all the listings in the area, one cheek against his fist and a small crease to his eyebrows. Everything he found didn’t really hold a candle to the place he currently lived in, and most of them were actually more expensive.

It wasn’t that Stiles _wanted_  to move, but after a month and a half of constantly hearing about all the noise he was making, he was starting to get desperate. He was managing to keep his cool around Derek, and even his dad, but Scott knew how bad it was getting and even Chris had taken him aside at work to talk about it.

After his monumental fuckup the other week, Chris wanted to have a chat the next morning. Stiles was positive he was about to get fired, but Chris had actually apologized for losing his head like he had, and had asked what was going on because Stiles had been acting off for a few weeks.

Stiles didn’t mean to unload on him, but he ended up blurting out the entire story, about how crazy lady was driving _him_  crazy and he was feeling stressed at every hour of his day because of it. Work was stressful, driving home was stressful, being at home was stressful. He literally had no peace in his life and he was just one giant ball of anxiety.

Chris, like everyone else, had insisted he not worry about it. Clearly the lady had issues, and he needed to live his life and forget about the complaints, but it wasn’t that simple. Stiles _couldn’t_  ignore it, because someone thought badly of him for something he wasn’t doing.

He’d even taken Kira’s advice and had contacted the property manager, but Ms. Morrell had replied back three days later—thankfully his situation wasn’t an emergency because _wow_ —and insisted she knew nothing about the complaint, but if Derek was handling it, to just keep communicating with him on it.

That was both comforting and terrifying. The fact that the property manager didn’t know meant that Derek was trying to keep her out of it as much as possible, but it also meant maybe it was so bad that he was trying to shield Stiles. After all, they kind of had a good rapport going, they were pretty much almost friends, by this point.

Derek dropped by every now and then, and they had good chats together, but they always inevitably ended up talking about the complaint. He felt like it was kind of tainting their relationship, because Derek could tell him as much as he wanted that he believed it wasn’t Stiles, but at the end of the day, Stiles didn’t honestly know that was true.

It was actually getting to the point where he dreaded seeing Derek, because it just made the ball of anxiety growing in his chest get bigger and bigger. And that wasn’t fair to Derek, but Stiles didn’t know what else to do.

That was why he was looking around for a new place. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt like he _needed_  to for his own sanity. He’d been looking around for the past few days, but he knew he wasn’t going to find anything as good as the deal he’d gotten on this place.

More than once, he was tempted to go downstairs and just _talk_  to the lady, but he always ended up chickening out.

Well, not so much chickening out as he just remembered Derek telling him to let him handle the in between stuff. And he trusted Derek, he did, but sometimes just going to talk to someone and sobbing and insisting _it wasn’t him_ was the only way to make someone believe him. Though depending on how crazy she was, she might not. She might insist his sobbing was too fucking loud.

He’d just clicked onto another place for sale close to where Scott and Kira lived when there was a knock at his door. He tensed instantly, since that could only mean bad news, and let out a small sigh before minimizing his screen and pushing away from his desk.

Moving to the door, he checked the peephole and felt his anxiety mount.

It was Derek.

Letting out a slow breath and forcing a smile onto his face, he pulled open the door. “Hey Derek.”

“Hi Stiles.” He offered him a small smile and Stiles’ eyes flickered down to what he was holding in his hands. He couldn’t see what it was, since it was in a plastic bag, but he held it like it was something he had to be careful with. “Can I come in?”

“Always.”

He felt the rock in the pit of his stomach grow heavier as he moved aside, and was thankful he’d minimized his screen. He didn’t want Derek to know the sight of him gave him anxiety and that he was thinking about moving, it wouldn’t be fair to him.

“What can I do for you?” Stiles asked, following behind Derek and crossing his arms defensively. “More complaints?”

“Uh, no,” Derek said, turning to him once he was standing in the kitchen area. “Not—I didn’t come by to talk about that today.”

“But they’re still happening?” Stiles asked.

“I didn’t come by to talk about that today,” Derek repeated, which just meant ‘yes’ and he wasn’t saying so.

He set the item he was holding on the counter and pulled it out of the bag. Stiles frowned when Derek pulled out a pie, wondering what the heck was going on.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” Derek teased with a half-smile, probably joking because it looked like an apple pie. “I was telling my mom about how you’re always willing to have a chat with me, and how you feed me sometimes when I drop by, and how you haven’t hurt me when I knock on your door late at night because your light’s still on. She said I owed you, and I figured—well, who doesn’t like pie?”

“You made me pie?” Stiles asked, a little startled.

“Yeah. Well, my mom technically made you pie, but I helped. Baking is not my forte,” he admitted, pulling the saran wrap off the top and turning to pull open Stiles’ cutlery drawer in search of a knife. “I just wanted to make it for you to say thank you for everything.”

Stiles didn’t think he deserved to be thanked for _anything_ , but he wasn’t going to tell Derek that. If Derek wanted to make him pie and eat pie with him and spend time with him without talking about the noise complaint, he was all for that.

“I think I have ice cream,” he said stupidly, moving to his fridge and pulling open the freezer. He did, in fact, have an almost full tub of vanilla ice cream. He’d bought it a while back and then never gotten around to eating it. It was easier to do that now that he didn’t have to worry his dad would dig into things he shouldn’t be having.

Derek cut two pieces of pie and stuck them on plates. Both fit in the microwave together, so he warmed them up for thirty seconds and then placed them in front of Stiles so he could scoop ice cream onto them. Once the pies were ready to eat, Derek grabbed spoons from the cutlery drawer and handed one to Stiles before leaning forward on the counter and digging in.

Stiles poked at his ice cream for a few seconds, but when he felt Derek watching him, he obediently pushed the spoon through the crust and took a bite. It was good, really good. It was actually almost making him feel a little better, warmth settling in his stomach.

Evidently, the quiet was noticed because Derek reached across the counter and lightly grazed his fingers against Stiles’ arm, frowning at him.

“What’s wrong?”

Stiles forced a smile. “Nothing. Just tired. Stressed. Life is stressful.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed, but he was still eying him, like he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. “Work?”

“Among other things,” Stiles offered.

Derek didn’t seem to understand crazy lady was the ‘other thing,’ because his shoulders tensed and he coughed once before saying, “Uh, partner troubles?”

“What?” Stiles frowned, then shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Just... don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

They finished their pieces of pie in silence, and Derek took the plates to rinse them and put them in the dishwasher. His phone had gone off a few times while they were eating, but he hadn’t checked it once, eyes on Stiles like he could read what was wrong on his face.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Derek finally said, somewhat awkwardly, moving to head for the door.

“What about the pie?”

“It’s for you,” Derek reminded him. “You can give me the dish back whenever is convenient.”

“Right.” Stiles figured if he went to see Derek, at least it would be one time he wasn’t expecting bad news, since it would be on his own terms.

“I hope whatever’s wrong resolves itself,” Derek said quietly, one hand on the door handle. “You have way too nice a smile for it to be gone for too long.” He offered Stiles a small smile of his own, then left the apartment.

Stiles had no idea how to tell him that Derek’s presence was the reason his smile was disappearing lately, because every time he saw him, bad news followed.

His stomach hurt.

* * *

“You want to what now?” the sheriff asked, fork halfway to his mouth and eyebrows raised.

Stiles played with the food on his own plate, cheek resting in one hand and resolutely not looking up at his dad. “I want to move back in with you.”

His dad set his fork down on his plate and pushed it aside so he could fold his hands together and lean forward. “Stiles, what’s going on?”

“Living alone just isn’t for me,” he lied, dropping his own fork and leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms defensively. “I don’t like it. I just—want to go home.”

He knew even as he said it that his father wouldn’t believe him, and honestly, he felt pathetic saying he wanted to move back in with his dad. He just couldn’t do this anymore. Work was only getting more and more stressful with all the extra work being piled on him because he was the most senior person there barring Chris, and home was just... shitty.

He never wanted to go home anymore. He would rather sleep in his fucking _Jeep_  than go home. He was barely there for longer than a few hours a day now, and even then, the lady managed to find something to complain about to ruin his fucking life and he just—he couldn’t anymore. He needed to go home, where breathing didn’t have someone complaining that he was being too fucking loud.

“Stiles,” his dad said, using his serious sheriff voice, “is this about the noise complaint?”

“No,” he lied, but the look he got for that showed his father didn’t believe him. “I can’t do it anymore, dad. I can’t. I feel like I’m going to throw up every time I go home, I’m so fucking anxious. I don’t want to live there anymore.”

“The son I raised doesn’t run away from his problems,” his dad insisted kindly. “What happened to the kid who used to get into a bully’s face when someone was being mean to his best friend?”

“I guess he got tired of being knocked down,” Stiles muttered. “And he got anxiety along the way.”

“Stiles.” His dad reached across the table, closing his hand around his wrist and squeezing. “You can’t let her do this to you. Everyone is on your side, you said even Derek knows it’s not you. Just go talk to her.”

“Derek asked me not to in case it escalates,” he muttered.

“If it escalates, just stay in the corridor. If she starts screaming and attacking you, make sure you stay in the corridor and people will be able to see _she_  is the problem. And if she’s as troublesome and problematic as Derek implied she is, then everyone already knows she’s the one to look at and not you. I’m sure her other neighbours feel the same way about her.”

“I just—why is she _doing_  this?” he demanded, frustrated. “I just want to live my life in peace, is that too much to ask?”

“Some people are just like that, Stiles.” His dad released his wrist, pulling his hands back in front of himself, palms flat on the table. “They just like to cause problems, make other people feel like shit. It’s just how they’re wired. I know it’s easier said than done, but you need to let this _go_ , Stiles. It’s turning into harassment, and you should tell Derek so. If we have to, we’ll set up cameras in your apartment, you can go about living your life, and if she complains again, we can show them to her and ask her where you’re making noise.”

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Not that Stiles _wanted_  his every move recorded, but if he had to provide evidence to the strata, or even if she went crazy and tried to sue him, at least he had backup.

“Stiles,” his dad said seriously, “I want you to promise me that if she complains again, you’ll talk to her. If you want me there for it, I’ll come, but I think once she hears from you, once _you_  tell her that it’s not you, she’ll see how sincere you are and she’ll stop. She’ll realize it’s not you and she’ll start looking elsewhere.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then we set up the cameras, prove it’s not you, and I slap a restraining order on her if I have to.”

Stiles smiled a bit at that. He knew it wasn’t _that_  easy, but he appreciated that his dad would fight to get it done for him. And really, he was right. Stiles didn’t normally run away from his problems, he faced them head-on. This was just... different. Because the other problems were things he could fix, but this one wasn’t since _he_  wasn’t the problem. It was infinitely more difficult to fix something he hadn’t broken, but he loved his place and he _wanted_  to stay.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Of course I am,” the sheriff said with a small smile, pulling his plate back over and picking up his fork. “Besides, I don’t want you back here, means I can’t eat what I want anymore.”

“I thought you were trying to talk me _out_  of coming back,” Stiles teased.

His dad just smiled at him and they went back to eating their dinner in comfortable silence. Once they were done, Stiles washed the dishes while his dad dried them, groaning and bemoaning the fact that his dad didn’t have a dishwasher, but he was mostly being dramatic. He liked being able to spend time with his father, even if all they did was wash and dry dishes together.

They went to watch some television afterwards and Stiles left a little after ten to head home. The closer he got, the more anxious he became, but when he’d finally reached his front door, he squared his shoulders and let out a slow breath before opening his door and walking into his unit.

His dad was right, and he couldn’t stop living because of something he _wasn’t_  doing. Really, no matter what he did, whether he was quiet or not, it clearly wouldn’t make a difference since she insisted it was him, so there was no point in him worrying about it. Easier in theory than in practice, but he was _determined_  to just... let this go.

So he walked into his apartment, shutting his door quietly behind him—because he was respectful to his neighbours and _never_  slammed his door—and then went about getting ready for bed. He showered, repeating to himself that she couldn’t hear him and was just crazy, then brushed his teeth, got into his pyjamas, and went to bed.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he agreed to try and live his life without letting her dictate anything else about it. The next time she complained, he would go see her, just like his dad said. Just like Scott had said. He would go see her, and tell her to leave him the _fuck_  alone.

* * *

It had been a long, terrible day at work. Like, so terrible Stiles was having one of those irrational days where he contemplated quitting before remembering money didn’t grow on trees and he needed money to live.

And he knew it didn’t grow on trees, because he’d buried a dollar bill in the yard when he was five and had promptly thrown a fit when a tree hadn’t sprouted despite how well he’d tended to it. Money should definitely grow on trees, and life wasn’t fair because it _didn’t_.

But money trees aside, Stiles was exhausted and miserable and all he wanted to do was go home, lie down face first on the couch, and move on with his life. That was it. Just exist and then wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

Which was why he almost didn’t check his phone when he heard it go off the second he’d fallen onto the couch. He almost ignored it, and just lay there on his face, pretending the world around him didn’t exist.

Almost.

But, his dad was the sheriff, and Stiles worried, so even while he knew it wasn’t going to be anything about his dad, even while he _knew_  he was about to have a worse night than the day he’d survived, Stiles sat up properly and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

When he saw Derek’s name on the home screen, he almost shoved it back where it had been, the stone in his stomach a permanent and uncomfortable weight, but his thumb had already hovered over the button and unlocked his phone with his thumbprint. Sighing, he went to his messages to see what horribleness was in store for him today.

 **[Derek]**  
Hello Stiles. I hope you’ve been doing well. I was wondering if I might drop in later today for a quick chat. I’ve received another complaint and I wanted to see what we could do to move forward.

Stiles stared down at his phone, feeling his anxiety beginning to mount again, as well as his anger. Another complaint. Of course. Another fucking complaint for something he was _not_  doing from a person who was _clearly_  out to get him. Maybe the lady downstairs wanted someone to move into his apartment and was trying to drive him out.

Hell, maybe their friend or boyfriend or whatever had been trying to buy the place, and now they resented Stiles for having won that war. He didn’t know, but enough was e-fucking- _nough_!

He texted Derek back to say he could stop by whenever, but even as he typed the message, he strode to his door and yanked it open. He’d promised his father, after all, and he was done. He was fucking _done_. This was _his_  apartment too, and after the day he’d had, he couldn’t deal with this anymore. Lady could fucking _shove it_ , and he was going to tell her so!

Pushing his phone into his pocket once the message sent, he locked his front door, spun on his heel, and practically stomped to the stairs. He went down the one level to the third floor, exited into the corridor, and walked down until he reached the apartment that would be directly below his. Letting out a slow breath and trying to calm himself down—yelling and being furious was _not_  going to resolve this problem—he gave himself a little shake, tried for a smile, and knocked on the door, proud of himself for already doing better this time than he had last time.

He had no idea if the person would be home, given he wasn’t sure what hours they kept and hadn’t been home the last time, but it was after five and most people worked nine-to-five jobs so hopefully she would be there. He could hear shuffling and a muffled voice calling they were coming before the lock clicked and the door was opened.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he’d knocked on the door, but not this. A part of him thought maybe it would be an older woman, late fifties or something. Like a soccer-mom type of person who relished making other people miserable.

Instead, he was looking at a girl who couldn’t be any older than thirty-five, with long, soft brown hair and piercing hazel eyes. She had a darker skin tone than his own almost sickly pale one, high cheekbones, and actually looked like the chillest person on the planet, which made this entire situation uncomfortable for him.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully, offering him a small smile. “Can I help you?”

It took him a second to collect himself, because he’d been expecting to have to use his charm to butter up an older woman to stop being a bitch. He had to recalculate now because that strategy wouldn’t work on this one, considering her age and the fact that she was _gorgeous_. It kind of made his brain short-circuit a little bit.

“Hi,” he managed to force out. “Um, I’m story.” He cursed, having tried to say his name _and_  sorry at the same time. “I mean, I’m _sorry_ , and I’m Stiles.”

“Laura,” she said with a smile, though her eyebrows furrowed, like she recognized him. Or at least his name. “What can I do for you, Stiles?”

He took a small breath, wanting this conversation to go well. He didn’t want to have to do this, but he needed this to stop. So he focussed on all the anxiety and anger he’d been feeling for the past two months, reminded himself he’d been looking to move out, and then finally found the courage to speak.

“I was hoping we could talk.” When she gave him a weird look, he finally said, “I live in the apartment upstairs.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Is everything okay?”

Stiles stared at her because, no. She _knew_  the answer to that was no.

Why was _she_  asking _him_  that? Clearly _nothing_  was okay, if she was complaining about him on an almost nightly basis.

“Uh, I just wanted to come and talk to you, you know, face to face. About the, uh, the noise.”

Her face fell at those words, and he figured she’d finally clued in to _who_  he was, despite saying he lived upstairs, but when she spoke next, Stiles felt like he’d entered another dimension because _what_  was going on?

“Oh my God, is it my TV? I’m so sorry, I know, I always have it too loud!” She cursed under her breath, clapping her hands together once and leaving them pressed against one another as if in prayer. “I’m so, so sorry! I have this habit of turning it on and watching something, then wandering off to do something else in another room, but then I can’t hear it so I just turn it up louder and louder and I know it’s inconsiderate and it’s just a bad habit from when I lived at home. I’m super sorry, I’ll try and be more conscious of—”

“What?” Stiles asked, unintentionally interrupting her. She paused, blinking at him in confusion, and he shook his head. “No, I can’t—I don’t hear your TV. Or at least, if I do, I’ve never noticed and it’s never bothered me.”

“Oh, good.” She let out a small laugh, pretending to wipe sweat from her forehead with an over-exaggerated, “Phew!”

Stiles was seriously, horrendously, _monumentally_  confused.

“No, I was—I was coming to talk about your noise complaint against me.”

Laura blinked at him, looking adorably confused. “My what?”

Stiles’ eyes skirted to the number beside her door, wanting to be sure that he hadn’t accidentally knocked on the wrong door, but nope. She definitely lived beneath him, apartment 318 to his 418. So now he was wondering if maybe Derek had made a mistake all this time. Maybe it was someone _else_ , in another apartment, and that was why the problem was persisting. Because the real culprit hadn’t been told, and Stiles had been living in anxiety and anger for _weeks_  over this misunderstanding.

“Sorry, you said your name was what again?” Laura asked, frowning at him. “You said Stiles, right?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, not sure what was happening. Because seriously, _what_  was happening?

She eyed him for a few seconds, let out a small hum, then moved aside and motioned him into her apartment. He hesitated, his instincts telling him that entering a young woman’s apartment as a man would be a bad idea in case something happened, but she didn’t seem the kind of person who’d make a false claim so he obediently stepped through the door and she shut and locked it behind him.

Her apartment was identical in layout to his own, but the colour scheme was different. His was mostly dark wood, with darker shades of paint and brown cabinets in the kitchen. Hers looked a bit more modern, with light gray flooring, soft egg white walls, and an almost beige-ish tint to her cabinets. It all felt very light and airy compared to his apartment. Not that he didn’t like his, he loved it, but he was kind of glad he hadn’t known about this other colour scheme or he’d have been jealous and wanted this one when he’d been looking to buy.

Laura motioned towards a large, plush leather couch, falling onto it and bending one leg up onto it, wrapping her arms around it. Stiles sat on the opposite end, unsure of what was going on. She motioned for him to speak with one hand.

“The complaint. Tell me about it.”

“Well, I’m starting to wonder if it was an accident, now. Maybe the wrong apartment?” Stiles scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. He was actually also getting angry, because he’d been living in fear for so long, and his anxiety was through the roof, affecting everything from his job to his health, and now he was discovering it might be a mistake? “I’ve had the building manager stop by and text me repeatedly for the past two months, telling me that my downstairs neighbour is complaining about me being awake playing video games on a nightly basis until three in the morning. I wake up at six to head to work, and I’m an engineer, so I’d definitely be in bad shape if I was up that late playing games.”

“So it’s Derek coming to see you?” Laura asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Not the strata or the property manager?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I actually contacted the property manager a little while ago, and she said she hadn’t heard about the complaint, but if Derek was dealing with it, that I should continue communicating with him. He told me my neighbour was a little, uh...” Stiles didn’t want to get Derek in trouble, so he changed the wording choice before continuing, “hesitant. You know, about us speaking, so he told me he’d play go-between and not to contact her. But I’ve been honestly feeling stressed and anxious about this whole situation since it started, to the point where I’m feeling sick almost all the time, and my job is stressful enough without coming home to stress about my neighbour, too.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” she said, sounding genuinely upset for him. “I can’t imagine how stressful that would be, working long hours, and then coming home to worry about your neighbour. I’m really sorry that’s been happening to you.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “So—I mean, I don’t... know what to do now. You’re saying it’s _not_  you?”

“It’s definitely not me,” she promised with a small smile. “Provided you live upstairs, 418, I can promise you it’s not me. I never hear you, I honestly thought you were coming to bitch about my television. 218 complains to me about it sometimes, but he and I have a good rapport and he knows I space sometimes. If he comes up or texts Derek to text me, I immediately turn it down and we move forward from there. Granted, I usually don’t have it playing late at night, but still. Most people here are pretty chill.” She frowned, as if trying to think of what the problem might be.

Then, something seemed to occur to her, because she looked at Stiles with interest again, leaning forward ever so slightly and narrowing her eyes at him. He cocked an eyebrow at her, feeling the stone in his stomach beginning to dissipate for the first time in _weeks_ , and she just cocked an eyebrow back at him.

“Just out of curiosity, because your name sounds _super_  familiar... Your dad wouldn’t happen to be the sheriff, would he?”

Stiles started, but nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I knew it!” Laura slapped one hand against her leg, the one not hugged to her chest. “When you said your name, I _knew_  it was familiar, even though he’s only slipped up once. Fuck, what an asshole, I _told_  him to grow a fucking set.” She reached into one pocket of the tight jeans she was wearing and pulled out her cell phone.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing when she unlocked the screen and swiped around with her thumb. He just sat there watching her, trying to figure out how to feel. Relieved was winning out, but confused, angry and ill were also warring for attention and he didn’t know which one was going to take over at any moment.

Focussing back on Laura when her phone began to ring loudly, he realized she’d put it on speaker so he could hear whatever conversation she was about to have. It rang twice before clicking, a disgruntled but familiar voice answering.

_“What do you want, Laura?”_

“Rude, that’s no way to greet your loving and adoring sister.”

Stiles started slightly at those words, almost gaping at Laura since she hadn’t said she was Derek’s sister. Now that she had, though, he could see the similarities, and it made sense that he’d thought she was so gorgeous, because she looked a _lot_  like her brother.

He remembered Derek telling him his sister lived close by, he just hadn’t realized she lived right _underneath_  him!

_“I’m busy, I don’t have time to deal with whatever bullshit you have for me. What do you want?”_

“Wow, _someone’s_  grumpy today,” Laura said, catching Stiles’ eye and rolling her own. “Quick question. Do you know some guy named Stiles?”

The silence on the other end was telling. _“What happened?”_

“Strangest thing, actually,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her phone, as if knowing her brother could sense the action. “I got a letter under my door a few minutes ago from someone named Stiles asking if we could meet to have a chat about a noise complaint he’s been getting? Far as I know, the only neighbour directly connected to my apartment that I haven’t met yet is the one upstairs. The letter suggests _I’m_  the one complaining, so tell me baby bro, what exactly is going on?”

 _“Don’t respond,”_ Derek said quickly, almost sounding desperate. _“Laura, please just—don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it, it’s fine. Don’t say anything to him.”_

“Derek,” she said, voice holding a hint of reprimand. “What are you doing? Why does this Stiles guy think I’m complaining about him?” A small smile started to curl the corners of her lips, and Stiles understood why a second later when she said, “Is he the new neighbour you have a crush on?”

Stiles was now _definitely_  sure he’d fallen into another dimension, because what? _What_? Derek had a _what_?!

 _“Shut up, just leave it,”_ Derek snapped, but even _Stiles_  could tell he sounded embarrassed.

“Oh my God, Derek. This is pathetic. You realize that, right? This is _pathetic_.” She rolled her eyes, probably because her brother knew her well enough to be able to tell over the phone. “I can’t believe you’ve been using a fake noise complaint, probably making him all anxious and scared to live his life in his own apartment, just because you’re too fucking chickenshit to ask him out. Do you have any idea how this has been affecting him? The poor guy is probably stressed to the max over this, what the fuck is wrong with you? If you like him, ask him out like a normal person!”

 _“It’s not that simple,”_ Derek insisted angrily.

“How is asking someone out not simple? You just _ask_. I know you’re socially awkward, believe me, I was stuck growing up with you, but even _you_  can manage to ask someone out. You asked people out just fine in high school.”

 _“That was different, it was high school,”_ he grumbled. _“And look at how most of **those**  turned out.”_

“This guy sounds like a far cry from Kate,” Laura said dryly. “At least he sounds your age instead of _twice_  your age.”

And wow, that explained a lot about Derek’s earlier conversation about relationships.

 _“This is **different** ,”_ Derek insisted again. _“I didn’t even really **like**  the people I dated before. But Stiles is—he’s interesting. He’s different. I like talking to him, I don’t want to ruin that.”_

“Well, how awkward do you think your next conversation with him is gonna be if I go up there and ask him what the hell his note is about?”

 _“Don’t you fucking dare,”_ he snarled.

“Then ask him out like a big boy!” Laura insisted.

 _“How?!”_ Derek demanded angrily. _“How am I supposed to just **ask**  him?! ‘Hey Stiles, I actually really like you, but don’t know how to talk to you without making up an excuse to stop by, sorry about lying to you. I’d love to grab a coffee with you sometime, would you be into that?’”_

“Yes,” Stiles said immediately without thinking.

Laura’s eyes snapped up to him, and her mouth curled into the most vicious smile Stiles had ever seen on another human being.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a good, long while. And then, _“Laura, you’re fucking dead.”_

The call ended.

Laura burst into a fit of laughter, leaning back on the couch and kicking both her legs out like a child. Stiles just stared at her, still feeling a little stunned at what had just happened. Evidently, after a few minutes of this, Laura noticed because she turned to smile at him and poked him in the cheek.

“You okay there, little guy?”

“Derek likes me?” Stiles asked, still unable to believe it. “He’s just been lying about the noise complaint because he likes me?”

“Derek is _special_ ,” Laura said, rolling her eyes. “He sucks with social cues, and he’s been in a lot of bad relationships. I’m guessing whenever he spoke to you about one of the complaints, he always tried to have conversations with you?”

Stiles thought about it and realized that he and Derek actually knew a _lot_  about each other. Even the first time he’d come by to talk about the complaint, Derek had spent a good ten minutes just chatting with him before actually getting down to business.

“So he was using that as a reason to visit because he didn’t want to admit he was visiting to get to know me,” he said slowly, feeling anger rising in his chest despite how hard he tried to shove it back down.

“Yup. I guess he felt it worked out his sister lived downstairs, because it should’ve allowed him to keep this going forever without worrying about being found out.” She grinned and poked him in the cheek again. “You destroyed his perfect plan by coming down here when he asked you not to. Good for you, little guy.”

Stiles wanted to be angry, he was _trying_  to be angry, but he was still in too much shock. He knew once that wore off, he would be fucking _furious_. “Does he have _any_  idea how anxious this entire thing was making me?”

Laura’s smile slowly slid off her face and she sighed, inching a bit closer to him and offering him an apologetic look, still hugging one leg to her chest. “Honestly, probably not.” She winced, like she hated admitting it, but sighed and shook her head. “Derek isn’t exactly the best with people. He tries really hard, and this job is good for him, but I seriously doubt he realized how much this was affecting you. Not because he’s a dick or anything, but because this wouldn’t bother anyone in our family.” She shrugged once when he looked at her. “I had a shitty neighbour beside me for a few years after I moved in, and every time he complained about mundane things like, I don’t know, my fan in my bedroom or the shower running or whatever, I just shrugged it off and ignored him. I knew I wasn’t being loud, I knew _I_ wasn’t the problem, so I didn’t let it bother me. Derek’s the same way. If it’s not us, we ignore it and move on. He probably chose a noise complaint for that reason specifically, because he figured it would allow him to contact you more often, and you would just shrug and go ‘not me’ and move on with your life. He didn’t realize you _wouldn’t_  do that because he’s an idiot who can’t figure out that not everyone is the same.”

“What he did isn’t okay,” Stiles insisted, finding some of his anger, but trying hard not to take it out on Laura since this wasn’t her fault. “I felt like I was going to _puke_ all the time! I almost _moved_. I wanted to move back in with my dad, I fucking _hated_ being here. That _wasn’t_  okay!”

“No,” Laura agreed vehemently, reaching out one hand and clutching at his closest one. “It wasn’t. It was _so_  not okay. What he did was a dick move, and you should definitely bitch him out about it. He deserves it, he deserves your anger, and the longest rant you can manage about how much this affected your life. He deserves to feel like shit for making _you_  feel like shit for so long.”

Well, at least she agreed with him, that was good. Because Stiles was _definitely_  going to lose his shit on him after how he’d been feeling the past two months. What a fucking _asshole_! Why couldn’t he have asked Stiles out like a normal person? What the fuck?!

“Stiles, you have every right to be mad at him. I just—please don’t cut him out.” Stiles’ eyes snapped to her when she said this, and she looked like it pained her to have to say the words. “I know he was a dick, and I know what he did wasn’t okay, but honestly, he’s probably outside somewhere hyperventilating right now over this monumental fuckup. So bitch him out, rant at him, hell _hit_  him if it’ll make you feel better, but just... let him explain himself. Please? He didn’t mean any harm, he just didn’t know how to get you to talk to him.”

Stiles couldn’t promise anything, because he was so fucking pissed off right now he thought he might explode. The only thing reigning in his anger right then was that Laura had nothing to do with this, and it wasn’t fair to yell at her for something she hadn’t even known was happening.

“I am going to fucking kill him.”

“Be my guest, he’d deserve it,” Laura said with a small smile, then let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, speaking of murder, can you maybe stick around for a little while? He’s less likely to kill _me_  if there’s a witness around.”

“If he’s headed here, I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles said coldly, turning to look at the television and crossing his arms.

“Good.” Laura turned to grab the remote for her overly large television.

Stiles jumped and winced at the volume when it turned on, Laura hastily lowering it and offering him an apologetic smile. Stiles was struggling not to snap at her whenever she said anything, because he was still so colossally mad, but as she flipped through Netflix and asked him questions about which shows he’d been watching lately, he realized that they had similar taste.

The more they spoke, the less angry he was. Not to say he wasn’t still livid, but at least, not with _her_. It wasn’t her fault, and he could tell she was trying to distract him.

Since both had expressed interest in _The Umbrella Academy_ , but neither had actually _watched_  it, she put on the first episode and they sat together while it played. Stiles was happy that she spoke during the show as much as he did, the two of them commenting on what was happening and predicting the next events, making up theories about all the characters on the screen.

By the end of the first episode, Stiles was positive Laura felt the same way as him: that they were going to be _great_  friends, and likely make Derek’s life _hell_. It was a good feeling. Not the making Derek’s life hell part, but the being great friends part, though making Derek suffer was looking pretty good too. And on top of that, Stiles felt really good knowing his downstairs neighbour, now. It meant if he ever _legitimately_  made noise, she wouldn’t complain about it, she’d just come upstairs and tell him to shut the fuck up. Similarly, if her television was on too loud, Stiles could come down and warn her before any of her _other_  neighbours complained.

They started the next episode, Laura asking to exchange numbers while it was starting, and they were well into making up more theories when there was very loud, very angry knocking at her door. Laura turned to grin at Stiles and he obediently stood to head over to it, his anger rushing back to the surface.

Unlocking it, he pulled it open, and was met with a furious Derek. His mouth was open, like he was ready to rip his sister a new one, but he almost choked on his words when his eyes found Stiles instead.

Most of the anger he’d managed to keep at bay resurfaced and Stiles had to restrain himself from punching Derek in his pretty face. He just kept reminding himself his father had raised him better than that, and the horrified and apologetic look on Derek’s face was kind of helping.

Stiles just crossed his arms, using his foot to keep the apartment door open, and scowled at Derek. “Do you have _any_  idea how much anxiety and stress you were causing me on a daily basis with this stupid noise complaint lie?” he demanded, needing Derek to know he was _very_  unhappy.

Derek opened his mouth. Closed it. His shoulders hunched slightly and he muttered, “I—I didn’t think. Sorry.”

“I was actually contemplating moving back in with my dad,” Stiles admitted angrily. “Because my job is stressful enough without coming home and being _more_  stressed out over something I wasn’t even doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said again, not quite meeting his eye. “I had no idea. You never—I didn’t think about the long-term effects.”

“Obviously,” Stiles said acidly, but he moved aside anyway to let him into the apartment. Derek hesitated for a moment before following through, being sure not to touch Stiles on his way past him. “You’re really lucky your sister told me not to yell at you.”

“Technically, I told you not to cut him out, I said nothing about not yelling at him,” Laura called from her spot on the couch, grinning at her brother. “Hi Derek. I see you’ve met Stiles.”

Derek scowled at her on his way to the couch and then stopped beside her so he could punch her hard in the arm. She let out a shout and punched him back, and then it dissolved into a weird slapping war, the two of them acting like children instead of grown adults.

Stiles said nothing as he watched, and figured this was just how siblings were. He didn’t have any himself, and almost all of his friends were only children, so he didn’t have much experience with how siblings acted together aside from television. He knew television didn’t accurately portray family life though, because most TV shows had brothers and sisters all lovey dovey and perfect without any conflicts whatsoever. As far as Stiles knew, real siblings hated each other ninety-five percent of the time, but always tolerated each other and were _always_  there for each other one-hundred percent of the time.

Siblings were weird.

“Stop hitting me,” Laura snapped, punching hard at Derek’s kidney and having him grunt and back off. “It’s your own damn fault. You should’ve just asked him out like a normal person.”

“I hate you,” Derek said, with feeling. “You’re the worst.”

“Excuse you?” Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “I got you a coffee date with him, if anything, you _owe_  me.”

“What?” Derek turned back to Stiles, looking a little startled. “We have a coffee date?”

Stiles wanted to snap that, no, they did _not_  have a coffee date after the shit Derek had pulled. But then he looked at his face, and at Laura’s pleading expression. He thought about what Laura had said, how Derek honestly probably hadn’t thought about how much stress this would put on Stiles. About how Derek himself had started to imply Stiles hadn’t given him any indication that he had a problem with the noise complaint aside from it being annoying.

Finally, he just said, “Well, you asked.” Stiles shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding looking at Derek, voice coming out unfriendly despite his best efforts. “I said yes. That counts, I guess.”

Derek looked a little less angry and a little more pleased. When he turned back to Laura, she raised her fists in defence but Derek just grabbed at her wrists so she couldn’t hit him, bent down, and planted a huge, wet kiss on her forehead. She let out a sound of disgust and kicked at him, not aiming to hurt, but just trying to get him away from her.

“Gross, get _away_  from me!”

Derek chuckled lightly and let her go, taking a few steps back so he was safe from her kicking legs. It was harder for Stiles to hang onto his anger when he saw how fucking _pleased_  Derek was. It just wasn’t fair, he had every right to be pissed as all hell, but Derek—and Laura, really—weren’t making it easy.

Damn his inability to hold a grudge.

Derek had just started to turn to Stiles when his phone went off before any of them could say anything else. He checked it before sighing.

“Mrs. Ito again.”

“She still having issues with her plumbing?” Laura asked, tucking one leg up against her chest again and hugging it tightly.

“Yeah. It’s turning into a problem since her downstairs neighbour won’t allow access into the suite. The plumber is positive the problem is in the wall between the units, but downstairs won’t budge. I’ll have to bring this to the strata and Morrell.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket after texting a brief reply, and glanced nervously over at Stiles. “I’m really sorry, Stiles.”

He was still mad, and he knew he would be for a while, but it was hard to hold it against Derek when he looked so fucking _wrecked_. Evidently Derek had issues with talking to people, so Stiles tried to just be understanding for now and they could have a longer discussion about how _not okay_ this was when Stiles wasn’t as colossally angry.

Murder was illegal, and he didn’t want his dad arresting him.

“I’ll live. Text me sometime next week for the coffee date. I need a bit of time to calm down before we do that or I might punch you in the face.”

“Understood.” Derek nodded once. “I will. Sorry. I mean it, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think.”

Stiles wanted to snap that it was obvious, but he forced himself to hold his tongue and just crossed his arms, choosing to say nothing rather than something cruel that he’d probably regret the second it left his mouth.

“Come on, Stilinski.” Laura patted the cushion beside her. “Let’s order pizza and finish watching this bullshit.”

Stiles nodded, taking a slow breath to calm down, and he and Derek passed one another while he headed back for the couch, the building manager heading for the door. When it shut behind him, Stiles heard the lock click and realized Derek had a key to Laura’s place.

It made sense, they were brother and sister, after all.

Falling onto the couch beside Laura, she pulled out her phone and asked what kind of pizza he liked. When he told her, she freaked out because that was her favourite, too.

“If Derek’s not careful, I’ll try and steal you out from under him,” she teased, but he could tell she was joking.

If anything, she seemed a little happy that the guy Derek liked had so much in common with her.

Stiles just hoped what Derek had done wouldn’t irreparably influence his opinion of him. Only time would tell, he supposed.

* * *

“He was making my anxiety go through the roof,” Stiles argued, stabbing his finger against the table and speaking with a mouthful of food. “Dad, I was going to move back in with you! I was going to sell and come back!”

“I am not on his side,” his father insisted calmly, holding one hand out towards him, as if to calm him down since he was getting worked up all over again. “Stiles, I’m not taking his side, and I’m certainly not saying what he did was okay, because it wasn’t. I saw how it affected you, I saw how stressed and anxious you were, how much you hated going home. I saw it. I’m not on his side, I’m just asking you to keep an open mind. You asked me for an unbiased opinion, and that’s what it is.”

“That it’s fine because he didn’t mean any harm?” Stiles demanded.

“That’s not what I said,” the sheriff argued calmly. “I said that, looking at it from his perspective, he wanted to get to know someone he had no reason to interact with unless he was contacted first. He was trying to find an opportunity to get to know you and yes,” his dad said loudly when Stiles went to interrupt, “he did it in a terrible way, but you said yourself his sister admitted their family lets stuff like that slide off their backs. He didn’t do this to cause you any grief, and it’s not okay that he _did_  do this, but he was just trying to get to know you without knowing how to do that.”

“Still,” Stiles muttered, poking at the food on his plate, aggravated.

It wasn’t that he wanted his father to take his side, it was just that he kept oscillating between being mad and being fine with what had happened. He could tell Derek felt terrible for what he’d done, but it didn’t take back the two months of constant stress Stiles had been forced to live with. It didn’t take back the fact that Stiles had fucked up at work due to sleep deprivation from angsting and stressing about the whole situation.

But similarly, Derek had apologized, and he’d clearly felt guilty and awful when he realized what he’d unintentionally done. He’d slipped a note under Stiles’ door at some point in the night where he’d apologized profusely and recounted the same story about his sister’s bitchy neighbour. He wasn’t trying to excuse away what he’d done, just explain that he hadn’t thought about how this would affect Stiles because it was something that had never affected his family.

He very clearly felt bad about it, and promised Stiles he would leave him be until Stiles reached out first, but had repeated over and over again how sorry he was and how he hadn’t meant to cause Stiles any unnecessary stress.

And when Stiles thought about it, he’d been very careful not to show how badly the noise complaint was affecting him. Hell, when he’d sat down and thought about it, he’d actually realized a few things about them. Derek only ever brought it up after long periods of silence where they hadn’t spoken for a while, kind of like an icebreaker to get Stiles speaking to him again. Any time they happened to bump into each other or they unexpectedly met up somewhere, Derek never said anything and it was always Stiles who addressed it first. Derek was content they were speaking, he had no reason to make up an excuse for them to talk when they already were, but if Stiles brought it up, and Derek said everything was fine, it would make it harder for him to claim he’d received another complaint. It was easier to pretend they were still happening on a regular basis and Derek just wasn’t contacting him about it every time than insisting everything was fine and then suddenly having another complaint.

“I’m not telling you to forgive him,” his dad insisted, raising his eyebrows when Stiles looked over at him. “I’m just saying try and see it from his perspective. Give him a chance to explain himself, see how you feel, and go from there. But if you were going to hold a grudge against someone who lied to you, you and Scott wouldn’t be friends anymore.”

It was hard to argue that, considering it was true. Scott lied to him all the time, and they made it work. Besides, the last time he’d seen Derek before the big reveal, he’d almost looked like he was going to say something. Like he was going to come clean. He’d looked at Stiles and known something was wrong, and for a second, it actually looked like he was going to admit he was making the noise complaint up.

Derek felt bad, and Stiles felt less angry because he obviously hadn’t realized what he was doing to Stiles.

“Why are you always so frustrating?” Stiles demanded, kind of annoyed his dad was so good at being neutral.

“I’m your father, I’m supposed to be frustrating,” he insisted with a smile. “Just give him a chance, and if you decide he isn’t worth your time, then that’s that. If you don’t at least let him explain himself, you might regret it in the long run.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Curse his father and his logic. After all, Stiles was already less angry today than he’d been the day before. And Laura had apologized for her brother numerous times without making excuses. She was against what he’d done, felt bad for what Stiles had gone through, but just wanted her brother to be happy. He could respect that.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“You hate it when anyone but you is right,” his dad insisted with a fond smile.

“Shut up.” Stiles hated that it was _true_ , too.

* * *

“So the guy lied?” Scott asked, staring at Stiles with a fry halfway to his mouth. “There was never any noise complaint against you at all?”

“Nope,” Stiles muttered, dragging one of his own fries through what was left of the ketchup on his plate and popping it into his mouth. He wiped his salt-covered fingers on his jeans before reaching out for the ketchup bottle, pouring a generous amount onto his plate again and snapping it shut before putting it back.

He picked up his burger to drag it through his glob of ketchup and took a bite, Scott still staring at him like he was trying to find words to say. He looked _pissed_ , likely because he was remembering all the anxious calls he’d been getting and the near-meltdown the day Stiles had been overly stressed at work, only to come home to a complaint.

“That’s fucking _awful_ , you should report him for that. That’s not okay.”

“It’s not,” Stiles agreed, shrugging slightly, “but I’m trying to get over it. His sister explained a bit about his past relationships, and about his social anxiety and stuff. And he slipped a note under my door with apologies, so I’m trying to see his side of it. He’s admitted multiple times he didn’t consider how it would affect me, and I believe him.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“It doesn’t,” Stiles said patiently, “but it explains it a bit more. I don’t think he’d have kept this up as long as he did if he realized what it was doing to my mental stability. We’re going for coffee on Tuesday and I’m expecting another apology.”

Scott still looked pissed for him, but Stiles insisted it was fine and to let it go. He’d been furious about it off and on for the past few days, but he’d spoken to Laura a lot and, like he’d said, Derek had slipped that one note under his door. And of course, there was the lengthy conversation with his dad, as well. While the sheriff had clearly been unimpressed with Derek’s actions, he’d at least been diplomatic about it, seeing both sides and trying to make sure Stiles did, too.

And, if anything, this was a good indicator that if they moved forward at all with this relationship, Derek could never, _ever_  lie to him again. Not that Stiles was all that pleased to start a relationship off on a lie, but everything else about their chats was true, courtesy of Laura snitching on her brother. It was legitimately just Derek not knowing how to approach him without an excuse, and he’d opted for a noise complaint because it was the easiest way to speak to him more often.

On top of that, Derek had also mentioned in his note that Laura had told him about how Stiles had emailed the property manager, and he’d cleared things up with her about the noise complaint so that this wouldn’t go into Stiles’ file. The strata hadn’t heard about any of this either, so there was no risk of anything coming up there. As far as everyone in the building was concerned, Stiles was a kind, energetic young man who respected all of his neighbours. Derek felt bad for making him think otherwise.

“I can’t believe you’re still agreeing to see him for coffee,” Scott said. “You should just tell him to fuck off.”

“You remember you practically stalked Allison for three months before dating her, right?” Stiles asked him dryly. “Everyone makes mistakes when they have a crush. I’m not exactly innocent, either. It’s not like I wasn’t objectifying Derek.”

“Totally different,” Scott argued.

“Not really.” Stiles shrugged. “It’s fine. We’re going to have a long talk about everything, I’m sure. And once we do, we’ll see where to go from there.”

“You’re way too nice,” Scott muttered.

“I like to think of it as being mature,” Stiles argued with a grin.

After all, everyone made mistakes. And perhaps, yes, Stiles was being too forgiving, but he was like his dad. It wasn’t fair to punish someone for a mistake if they apologized for it—barring crimes, of course, otherwise his dad would be a horrible police officer. Besides, Stiles had made his own share of mistakes in his life, and so had Scott. Like his dad had said, if Stiles hadn’t been so forgiving, he and Scott probably wouldn’t be friends anymore.

“I just think you should consider that once a liar, always a liar.”

Stiles stared at Scott, one fry between his fingers. “Remember that time you told me you couldn’t come hang out because you were sick even though we’d made plans earlier in the week and you were actually fine and just making out with Allison?”

Scott’s face instantly flushed. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So once a liar, always a liar?” Stiles asked.

Scott stared at him, then rolled his eyed and grumbled something under his breath, probably rude. Stiles felt like he’d made his point and went back to eating his fries. Scott was smart enough not to bring it up again, but if Stiles and Derek _did_  move things along and started a relationship, it would take time to win Scott over. He’d probably keep bringing up the fact that Derek was a liar.

And when he did, Stiles would remind him that he was, too. Hell, Stiles himself was a liar. He lied to his dad all the time! Sure, it was usually food-based, but lying was lying.

Besides, he wanted to believe Derek hadn’t meant it maliciously. Everything pointed to him making a bad decision and not considering the consequences of his actions, and Stiles was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Nobody was perfect, and he really liked Derek. He wanted to get to know him better, and once they got past what had happened, they could move on.

That was all he wanted. To move on. Forget the past, and keep looking forward.

Hopefully coffee would allow them to put this all behind them.

* * *

Stiles was surprisingly nervous when he walked into the Starbucks a few minutes from his apartment. He didn’t know _why_  he was nervous, considering he’d met Derek many times, but he just... was nervous. Maybe because before it was all one-sided and now knowing that Derek himself liked him back it made things... weird.

Then again, wasn’t like Stiles could fuck things up any worse than Derek already had, and they were still meeting for coffee, so he supposed he had nothing to worry about.

Looking around the place, he didn’t find Derek and figured he must’ve been early. He went to the counter to order himself a drink and a cookie, then went to grab a seat at a free table. He sipped at his drink while watching all the people around him, and when the scheduled arrival time came and went, he had just enough time to think maybe Derek wasn’t coming and this was all some huge joke when the door opened and Derek rushed in, eyes scanning the area quickly before he relaxed at the sight of Stiles.

Stiles noticed two girls at a neighbouring table eying Derek with interest, but he ignored them while Derek hurried over to him. His shirt was wet, for some reason, and his hair looked a little damp, like he’d recently taken a shower.

His next words explained his appearance, as well as why he was late.

“Sorry. Pipe burst and it took a while to get someone in to fix it. I had to figure out how to shut the water off, and I was afraid that if I texted you, you wouldn’t believe me and would think I was bailing.” He sat down across from Stiles, looking like he hated everything, and that more than anything was what made Stiles forgive him entirely.

Derek probably didn’t have much luck with dating in general, given his looks and the way people just liked the package he came in. Stiles himself was guilty of that at first, but he’d gotten to know him over the past two months, and he now felt like the package was just a bonus.

It was obvious he worked hard, he never had free time just for himself, and he’d rushed in looking terrified Stiles had left because he was late. It was hard to stay mad at someone who acted like every misstep would have him end up alone.

“It’s okay. Not your fault. Everything work out?”

“The contractor came in and is back at the apartment with the owner. I told them I had somewhere to be and they shooed me away.” He winced. “Sorry again.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. You were working. I mean, you’re always working so, you know.” Stiles shrugged. “I get it. Must be hell on your personal life.”

“What personal life?” Derek asked with a small smile. Stiles just laughed and shook his head. “Actually, speaking of that,” Derek said quietly after a moment. He reached into his back pocket, winced slightly when he pulled out a damp piece of paper, and managed to unfold it. It was definitely ruined considering how wet it was, but when he passed it over to Stiles, he was surprised that the words printed on it hadn’t run so badly that he couldn’t read it.

It was a printed resignation letter addressed to the strata and the property manager. Stiles read through it, the letter relatively long, with an explanation of him having abused his power in the course of his duty for personal means, and that he wasn’t fit to stay on as the building manager any longer.

Stiles re-read the letter twice, pressed his lips together, folded it back up, and then proceeded to rip it into pieces. He dropped the wet, stuck together clumps of paper onto the table in front of his drink, then looked back up at Derek.

“You know I can just print another one, right?” Derek asked him.

“You’re not resigning,” Stiles insisted. “They’d never find someone as good as you are. Unless you’re legitimately done with this job and don’t want to do it anymore, you’re not resigning.”

“What I did was unacceptable,” Derek argued, staring intently at Stiles. “I didn’t consider how my actions would affect you, and I caused you a lot of stress and anxiety over something that wasn’t even happening. I shouldn’t be allowed to keep this job.”

“Let me ask you something,” Stiles said, moving his drink aside slightly and leaning forward on the table. “If you hadn’t found an excuse to knock on my door that Saturday morning, would you ever have done it?”

Derek was silent for a long while, staring at him intently before finally saying, “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“Even though you liked me and wanted to get to know me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek said. “I wouldn’t have knocked.”

“So having a reason, even though it wasn’t true, was the only way you managed to knock on my door that day.”

“Yes.”

“Then I forgive you for it.”

Derek scowled at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is. You said sorry, I said it’s okay. We move on.”

“But what I did—”

“Was shitty, yeah,” Stiles insisted. “It sucked and was mean and literally made me hate my life for two months. But you didn’t know what else to do, _and_  you didn’t know that was how I was feeling because I was good at hiding it from you. It happened, it sucked, but we’re going to move forward and learn from it. The next time you want to talk to me, you can invite me out for coffee or just drop by for a movie. Clear?” Stiles raised his eyebrows, waiting for Derek to confirm his understanding.

Derek was just rubbing absently at one of his own hands, eyes inspecting every inch of Stiles’ face like he wasn’t sure if this was a trap or not. Stiles had to wonder about his past relationships if he thought Stiles was trying to trap him.

“I really like my job,” Derek said quietly.

“And you’re really good at it. So keep it. But,” Stiles said, pointing a finger at him, “any future noise complaints against me from anyone but Laura are to come from the strata or Morrell going forward.”

“That’s fair,” Derek acknowledged, looking a little embarrassed. “Laura says she never hears you, so I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

“Good.”

“I really am sorry, Stiles.” Derek started to reach out one hand, hesitated, then set it halfway across the table, just shy of Stiles’ own hands. “I just really wanted to talk to you and I didn’t know how.”

“It’s okay. I fumed about it, I vented, I bitched, and I feel better now.” Stiles shrugged. “And knowing that you honestly didn’t think about how it was affecting me kind of makes me feel less angry about it. You didn’t mean to make me feel that way, so let’s just,” Stiles motioned lifting up a rug and sweeping under it. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just want us to pretend it didn’t happen, and you just won’t ever lie to me again.”

“Never,” Derek agreed.

Stiles nodded once, and figured they could be done with this, taking a sip of his coffee. He motioned behind himself then. “Were you going to get something.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I didn’t really want the coffee part of this outing,” he admitted, his neck flushing and a small smile on his face.

Stiles grinned back, but before he could say something, he heard one of the girls beside them let out a soft, “aw,” as if she thought they were cute. Derek’s gaze shot in their direction and Stiles felt himself getting frustrated about it. He doubted the girl would’ve made that comment had they been a heterosexual couple, and that really irked him.

“Actually,” Stiles said, shoving his cookie into his pocket and grabbing his drink. “Did you want to get out of here? We can head back and order Chinese or something.”

Derek seemed relieved, like he was more than okay leaving the Starbucks, as long as he wasn’t missing out on time with Stiles. He nodded and got to his feet, and the two of them left together, Stiles instantly feeling better when they were outside. Derek seemed pretty happy about it, too.

When Stiles headed for the road so they could walk back, Derek touched his arm lightly.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh, home?” Stiles motioned the road. “It’s that way.”

“You didn’t drive?” Derek asked, surprised.

“It’s like, a ten minute walk, and my Jeep is a sensitive soul.”

Derek laughed at that, but motioned for Stiles to follow. Evidently he’d driven, since he was heading through the lot towards the far end where there were more open spaces. He stopped beside a black Camaro, Stiles letting out an appreciative whistle before climbing in when the doors were unlocked.

“Nice ride,” he admitted.

“Thanks. I’ve had it since I was eighteen. Used to belong to Laura, but when she got herself a job, she bought a new car and donated this one to me.”

“That was nice of her.”

“My sister’s an asshole, don’t you dare like her,” Derek insisted, but the small smile on his face suggested he was just teasing.

They bantered lightly about Laura the whole way back to their home and Stiles realized Derek lived in the neighbouring building when he went into the underground lot for it. Once they’d climbed out, Derek motioned the door leading to the elevators, and Stiles obediently followed him, kind of excited to see his place.

They went up to the fifth floor and Derek led the way down the corridor to the seventh apartment on the right. His phone went off when he was about to unlock his door, and he checked it quickly before sighing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, typing back a reply.

“Problem?” Stiles asked.

“Sort of,” he admitted. “I need to go check on something.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and unlocked his door. Pushing it open, Stiles followed him inside, startled at how different it looked to his and Laura’s.

Everything was so _white_. The floor was elaborate white tile, the counters were all white quartz, the walls were all _white_. Everything was very white, he felt like it almost hurt his eyes a little bit.

“You get used to it,” Derek said with a small laugh.

“I think I’m blind,” he insisted, blinking a few times. The sun bouncing off the white floor wasn’t helping matters, but at least Derek had tried to balance it out by buying black furniture.

Derek was rooting through a drawer by the stove—also white—and then pulled out a takeout menu. He went back over to Stiles and handed it to him. “Why don’t you order us dinner while I’m out? Shouldn’t take too long, just a quick chat I need to have with someone. I’ll be back in under ten minutes.”

He pulled his wallet out and fished a few damp bills from it. Stiles took them with a nod, even though he’d probably pay for dinner with his card. He just didn’t want to tell Derek that, he seemed really annoyed and guilty for having to leave him.

“Go ahead and watch TV or something, I’ll be back in a second, promise.”

“Sure. What do you like?”

“I’m good with anything,” he said with a small smile. “Whatever you order will be fine, I’m sure. See you in a bit.”

Derek left after that and Stiles opened the Chinese restaurant takeout menu, looking it over. A few things were circled, so he figured those were the things Derek liked. He called them to place an order for delivery, but since he didn’t actually know Derek’s address, and their buildings were next door to each other, he gave his own and asked them to call him when they arrived.

He was expecting Derek to be back by the time the food came, so he didn’t worry about it, moving to the television to turn it on just as someone knocked on the door. Hesitating, then deciding it might be important, he moved to it and pulled it open, the man on the other side looking startled before checking the apartment number.

“Can I help you?” he asked. “Are you looking for Derek?”

“Yes,” he said, eying Stiles uncertainly. “Is he available?”

“He’s out helping someone right now, did you want me to take a message?” He pulled his phone out so he could type something to himself to let Derek know later, but the man shook his head and said he’d text Derek instead before leaving.

Stiles shrugged and shut the door, and he’d barely made it back to the couch when a phone began to ring. He stood in the middle of the room for a second, then realized it was a landline. There was no phone anywhere he could see, so he wandered down the corridor. He wasn’t comfortable going into Derek’s room without his permission, but he realized the phone was actually in a little office beside his bedroom. He went to answer it, hesitated, then did so anyway.

“Uh, Derek Hale’s phone.”

 _“I need to speak to Derek **right now** ,”_ a woman snapped on the other end.

“He’s not here right now, can I take a message?”

Boy could he ever, apparently. He frantically tried to find a piece of paper and a pen while the woman angrily rattled off her name and phone number, along with a long explanation of her grievances. He managed to get it all down and promised her he’d give Derek the message before hanging up.

Then he stood there staring at the message he’d written.

He had no idea how Derek had any time to do anything in his life. Everyone always seemed to have a problem that required his attention, and Stiles actually felt like maybe it was time to think about hiring a second building manager. Did Derek ever even get vacation? He said he had weekends off barring emergencies, but if everyone knew where he lived, or had his number—cell phone or otherwise—they probably still called and texted him outside his work hours. After all, it was after his regular business hours right now, and he’d still gotten a text message, a knock on his door, _and_  a phone call. That was kind of unfair, and it made Stiles wonder if maybe all the relationships that had failed were because of his work.

Which wouldn’t be fair because it wasn’t Derek’s fault, but Stiles could see that getting frustrating. Still, he was going to make sure if they moved forward that he was patient, though he _would_  bring up the fact that he should look into hiring a second person.

He went back to the television, managing to sit down and watch it this time for a few minutes before another knock came at the door. This person was very nice, and let Stiles take a message, insisting it wasn’t urgent and that Derek could just touch base when he had a second. Stiles wanted to snap that if it wasn’t urgent, they shouldn’t have come to knock on his door outside his working hours, but they’d been so nice he felt bad about wanting to snap and ended up just saying good night and shutting the door.

When he went back to the couch, he opened his messages with Laura and asked how Derek had a social life.

 **[Laura]**  
LOL!  
**[Laura]**  
wat social life????  
**[Laura]**  
all he does is wrk

 **[Stiles]**  
yeah, I’m starting to realize that...  
**[Stiles]**  
he needs a helper  
**[Stiles]**  
I’ve been in his apartment for 20 mins and there’s been 2 knocks and a call  
**[Stiles]**  
and he left to deal with a text he got

 **[Laura]**  
UUUUUUUUUUGH  
**[Laura]**  
pls give him a chance  
**[Laura]**  
hes a workaholic  
**[Laura]**  
he didnt mean to ditch u

 **[Stiles]**  
I’m not mad I get it  
**[Stiles]**  
more worried about him tbh

His phone rang while he waited for her to reply, and when he answered, he was startled to realize it was the Chinese restaurant calling. The delivery guy was at his building. Derek wasn’t back yet, and Stiles felt uncomfortable leaving his unit unlocked, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He also couldn’t get back into the building though since he didn’t have a key for it, so he asked the delivery guy if he could come to the building next door, describing which one he was in, and stayed on the phone with him while he raced down the stairs.

When he got to the front door, he waved to the guy heading towards him with the takeout and pushed the building door open. He hung up his phone and exchanged his card for the food, waiting while the man punched everything into his machine before handing it back. Stiles winced at the price, but Chinese food was always expensive, so he just paid with a generous tip, considering the inconvenience, and then pulled his card out. He took the receipt, thanked the man again, then raced back upstairs.

Thankfully no one seemed to have broken in to steal all of Derek’s things while he was gone, and he went about finding the dishes and cutlery so he could set up two spots at the counter for them. He shoved the food in the oven to keep it warm, then went back to the couch.

He texted with Laura for a little bit while he waited, but when time ticked by and Derek still wasn’t back, he started to worry something might have happened. Or maybe Derek was so engrossed in his work he’d forgotten Stiles was at his place? He contemplated calling or texting him, but he didn’t want to bother him if he was working. When almost a half hour passed, he was starting to wonder if maybe this was a subtle hint but before he could let that feeling bury itself too deeply, the door slammed open and he almost fell off the couch in fright.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek insisted, seeming relieved Stiles was still there. “I’m so sorry, that was—it shouldn’t have taken longer than ten minutes, but then I got another call, and a few texts, and I just—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles insisted, because knowing it wasn’t Derek trying to subtly hint for him to leave made him feel better. “I had to take some messages for you while you were out.”

Derek groaned, but didn’t ask to see them, obviously done for the day and unwilling to open the door for more people to call and text him outside his usual hours.

Stiles stood while Derek moved into the kitchen and motioned the oven when he seemed to be looking for the food. He pulled it out and they loaded up their plates. The food had gotten a bit cold in his absence, so he stuck the plates into the microwave, Stiles’ first, and then they sat at the counter to eat, Derek dutifully ignoring his phone the next time it went off.

“You need an assistant,” Stiles said, licking plumb sauce off his fingers from the springroll he was eating.

“Yeah, I know,” Derek said with a sigh. “I love my job, and I know everyone appreciates all the work I do, but I’m one person. It’d be nice to have even a receptionist, at this point. When people reach me right away, they expect immediate action, even if their problem isn’t urgent. Having someone else grab the calls first means they can put them into order of importance.”

“Have you spoken to the strata and property manager?”

Derek nodded while chewing on his cashew chicken, moving some fried rice around on his plate so he could grab some with his next bite of chicken. “Yeah, they’re looking into it. I haven’t had a real vacation since I started this job. Think they’re worried I’m going to quit.”

“To be fair, you were going to until I talked you out of it,” Stiles argued with a small smile.

Derek rolled his eyes and nudged him lightly, but Stiles just grinned and they continued eating in comfortable silence. Once they’d finished up, Derek grabbed the plates and put them in the dishwasher, Stiles heading back for the couch. They sat together and watched a few episodes of _Brooklyn 99_ because that show was amazing, and Stiles was actually really glad he’d agreed to coffee with Derek.

It was obvious he still felt bad about what had happened between them, as well as having ditched Stiles for such a long time, but Stiles didn’t hold it against him. He was also guilty of forgetting plans with people because work was crazy, so he couldn’t hold it against anyone else. And he’d seen first-hand how in demand Derek was.

When it was nearing ten, Stiles figured he should go, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Derek said he’d walk him home, and even though Stiles insisted he didn’t have to, Derek was adamant and argued that it gave him the opportunity to bug Laura.

So, they walked back across the way to the neighbouring building together, Stiles opening the door and leading the way in. Derek followed him into the elevator, and then back out on his floor, moving beside him with his hands in his pockets.

When he reached his door, he turned back to Derek, and before he could say anything, the other man spoke.

“Thank you.”

Stiles frowned. “For what?”

“For what, he asks,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “For forgiving me. For understanding. For telling me not to quit. For staying even though I was gone for almost an hour. Just, thanks.”

“Eh,” Stiles punched him lightly, “you’re worth it. Besides, means when I have problems, you owe me.” He was just teasing, and he hoped Derek knew that. He felt like he did, considering the smile on his face.

“Can we do this again?” Derek asked, sounding almost cautious. “I’d like to do this again. Maybe on Saturday? When I’m officially off?”

“Sure.” Stiles smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” Derek started to lean in, then hesitated.

Stiles put him out of his misery and leaned up to kiss him. It wasn’t anything special, just a soft press of lips, Derek’s stubble scratching against his chin, but before he could pull away, Derek’s hand were on his face. He kissed him harder, tongue coming out to press at the seam of Stiles’ lips, and he parted them in invitation.

For all his nervousness and hesitation to ask Stiles out, Derek kissed him like a confident man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. It felt like Derek was trying to map every inch of his mouth with his tongue, hands clenching against his face almost hard enough to hurt, and the length of his body pressing Stiles into his door. Every inch of him was hard muscle, which contrasted a little bit with how smooth his skin was when Stiles ran his fingers up both his arms.

He tasted like sweet and sour sauce from their dinner, and every time he moved, his stubble scraped along Stiles’ skin. He fucking loved it.

When Derek pulled away, digging his teeth lightly into Stiles’ bottom lip while doing so, Stiles felt like he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He’d dated guys before, but a part of him felt like he’d never really dated a _man_. Derek was all hard edges and firm muscle, and while he knew he was into guys, he’d never known _how much_ until this moment.

“I’ll see you later,” Derek said, still holding his face, and lips so close they brushed against Stiles’ with every word.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “Yeah, later.”

Derek kissed him lightly, a soft press of lips similar to Stiles’ original kiss, and then pulled away. He waved one hand while walking down the corridor, and Stiles just stared after him for a long while, trying to find a reason for him to stay.

When Derek had almost made it to the stairs so he could go down to see Laura, Stiles’ voice rang loud through the corridor when he blurted out, “My bathroom door’s been sticking!”

Derek turned back to him, looking a little startled, but Stiles just shrugged helplessly in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way. He was suddenly painfully aware of what Derek had been doing the past two months because Stiles’ bathroom door was _not_ , in fact, sticking. But he didn’t know how to get him to come back without screaming that he wasn’t done sucking his face.

“I should take a look at that,” Derek said, striding purposefully back down the corridor. “I’m here. I might as well.”

“Yup,” Stiles agreed, turning and hastily unlocking his door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, turning to wait on Derek. The other man was barely in his apartment when Stiles wrapped his arms around his neck and yanked him back down for another kiss, the door closing loudly behind him and Stiles releasing him only long enough to snap the lock into place.

Derek’s hands were on his hips this time, pushing him back against the wall beside his front door. One thigh pressed between Stiles’ legs and he groaned, pulling Derek closer and determined to suck all the oxygen out of his lungs.

Long fingers slid into Derek’s hair, pulling him closer while he rocked his hips down against the thigh between his legs. Derek yanked himself away, and Stiles was about to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t get the chance. A moan slid up his throat when Derek kissed and sucked his way down Stiles’ throat. He bit and sucked at a spot near his pulse, but not hard enough to leave a bruise. Just enough that Stiles would feel it. Stiles almost asked him _to_  leave a bruise, but maybe next time. They had time, this was still technically their first date. If it even qualified as a date.

No, this was definitely a date.

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Stiles warned him, Derek moving to another spot on his neck to continue his abuse.

“I’m more of a cuddler, anyway,” Derek informed him.

God, this guy was the best, Stiles thought he might be in love.

“Cuddling’s good,” Stiles gasped out, Derek’s lips returning to his and kissing him hard. “I like cuddling,” he managed between kisses.

“Good,” Derek said, and Stiles flailed one arm towards his bedroom.

Derek didn’t release him, he just pulled him away from the wall enough to turn him so that he could walk Stiles backwards down the corridor. It made sense, since Stiles knew where to go, and he fumbled blindly for the hall light since it was still on from his return home earlier. They were bathed in darkness and Stiles almost bit into Derek’s tongue when he stumbled into his room. Thankfully he didn’t, otherwise that would’ve ruined their evening.

Once they were over the threshold, Stiles pulled away from Derek enough to gasp in air, letting him go and pulling his shirt up over his head. Derek’s hands were at his pants, undoing them quickly and efficiently. Once the shirt was out of the way, Stiles’ lips were back on Derek’s and he pushed his jacket off his shoulders, hearing it land loudly on the wood floor.

“Why are you even _wearing_  a jacket?” Stiles demanded between kisses, wiggling his hips to help Derek get his pants off even while he tugged insistently at the hem of Derek’s shirt.

“I like my jacket,” was the only answer he got, Derek having to let him go so Stiles could wrench the man’s shirt up and off him, tossing it aside.

Stiles kissed him again, toeing off his shoes before leading the way backwards to his bed. His jeans were at his thighs now, and he and Derek had to separate so he could get them off, hopping on one foot and almost falling over. Derek was a lot more graceful with his own pants, kicking off the shoes he was wearing and yanking them down strong, muscled thighs.

Stiles wasn’t at all surprised to see Derek was a boxer-briefs kind of guy to his own boxers kind of guy. Derek just looked like someone who would prefer those to boxers.

Falling backwards onto the bed, Stiles shuffled his way up towards the headboard, head landing comfortably on his pillow. Derek crawled up after him, looking like a predator prowling over its prey, and Stiles fucking loved that. Once Derek’s head was level with his own, he slowly lowered himself until he was pressed against him, settling comfortably between Stiles’ legs.

“I like you like this,” Derek said, and Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

“Desperate and horny?”

“Honest,” Derek argued.

“I’m always honest.”

“Shall I go check your bathroom door?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Stiles insisted, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Being in the bedroom somehow made them less desperate. The kisses weren’t as hard, and despite Derek being between his legs and both of them hard, there wasn’t as much thrusting as Stiles had been expecting. It was all just calm exploration, Derek’s hands tracing every inch of his skin while Stiles contented himself with tracing every line of muscle along Derek’s back.

He didn’t know how long they made out for, but when his lips started to feel swollen and his body was relaxing beneath the weight and warmth of Derek’s, Derek finally pulled away from him and reached down to grab the blankets bunched at the bottom of Stiles’ bed.

He would’ve been embarrassed at the fact that Derek knew he didn’t make his bed but honestly, who did anymore? Their generation didn’t see the point in fruitless efforts.

With the blanket pulled up to their chests, Derek shifted to the side so he wasn’t crushing Stiles and wrapped an arm around his middle, settling his cheek against Stiles’ right pectoral and getting comfortable.

Stiles had one arm wrapped around Derek’s middle, hand running lightly up and down his spine while he stared up at the ceiling, feeling content. This was really nice. Being with Derek felt effortless, and almost _easy_. He really liked that. He liked that they fit together so well, and he wished he’d known that from the beginning so he and Derek could’ve gotten to know one another more easily months ago.

Really, Stiles felt like both of them owed Laura. Maybe he’d buy her dinner sometime.

* * *

“Ugh, I don’t know _why_  I thought inviting you over was a good idea,” Laura insisted, slouched in her seat and glaring at the television. “Every time _you_  come over, _he_  eventually follows.”

“Rude,” Stiles insisted. “He’s your brother.”

“Exactly. I had to grow up with him, I had to see his dumb, stupid face every day. When I moved here, he decided it would be a good idea to follow me. And now he’s invading my apartment every time I invite you over.”

“Boo hoo,” Derek teased, one arm around Stiles’ shoulder while he nosed gently at his boyfriend’s temple, kissing it lightly before settling. “I had a long day, and if I want to cuddle with Stiles, and you happen to invite him over, that’s your problem.”

“It’s _your_  problem for being incapable of keeping your hands to yourself,” Laura argued. “You should win an award for most handsy person on the planet.”

“Can that award come with a prize of him being able to continue being handsy?” Stiles asked, leaning into Derek’s side and ignoring the fake gagging noises Laura made.

“You two are going to lead me to drink.”

“At least we feed you when we visit,” Derek argued. “Who paid for your dinner earlier?”

“You owe me all the dinners in the world, short-stack.” Laura turned to glare at him. “I’m the reason you ended up getting together with Stiles. Feel free to grovel at my feet for eternity.”

Stiles just laughed and shook his head, watching the screen even though they’d all basically lost track of what was happening. Which was ironic, because Derek and Stiles liked watching television at Laura’s since they tended not to get distracted by one another. But then, Laura always started little arguments that made it so they missed what was happening on the screen, anyway.

Not that it mattered, since Stiles knew he could just go home later and watch everything by himself, but it was more fun with other people around. Not that Derek was often around, what with work, but rumour had it he was getting an assistant soon. No real word on when, but Derek was just looking forward to training them up and going on a much deserved, much anticipated vacation.

He wasn’t even technically _going_  on vacation, he was going to stay home and do nothing and ignore everyone. Except Stiles, but to be fair, Stiles didn’t call him with problems. He called him for cuddles.

And they were such good cuddles, too. They’d only really been fully involved for about a week, but Stiles loved Derek’s arms. They were so big and he felt all safe and warm whenever he was wrapped in them. He almost wanted to melt into him, and he was going to _love_  having Derek around during winter.

The guy ran like a furnace, and Stiles got cold very easily, so having a living, breathing, cuddling furnace in his bed would be great. Derek also really liked spending the night, because people apparently knocked on his door at all hours and they couldn’t do that when he wasn’t home. If it was a true emergency, they would call the office who would in turn call Derek, but ninety-nine percent of the time, it wasn’t an emergency. It was an asshole who had a grievance that could’ve waited until it _wasn’t_  three in the morning.

“So have you asked him yet?” Laura asked, and Stiles felt Derek turn to glare at her more than saw it. “What? What if he has plans? You should ask before he makes plans. Unless that was your goal, because you don’t want to scare him away.”

“I’m not the one who’d scare him away,” he grumbled.

“No you wouldn’t,” Stiles agreed, tilting his head to kiss at Derek’s neck, feeling the brush of stubble against his lips. Stiles fucking loved Derek’s beard, he kept trying to convince him to grow it out, but he insisted it was too warm and promised he’d think about it for winter.

“Stop that,” Laura insisted, nudging at Stiles with her foot. “Gross. Don’t do that in front of me. I don’t want to look at that shit.”

“Then go somewhere else,” Derek said.

“This is my apartment!” Laura let out an annoyed grunt. “I’m never inviting you over again.”

Stiles just grinned against Derek’s throat, because Laura had said that literally every day that week, and yet Stiles somehow still ended up in her apartment before the day was through. He figured she liked his company enough that she could tolerate seeing her brother as often as she was now required to.

“What are we asking me?” Stiles inquired, turning back to the television and settling comfortably against Derek once more.

There was silence for a long while, and when he glanced at Laura, who was the easiest of the two for him to clearly see given how he was sitting, she was staring pointedly at Derek.

“My parents want to meet you,” Derek muttered.

Stiles jerked away from him, turning to stare at him incredulously. “What? _Why_?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Derek asked with a scowl. “Because we’re dating.”

“But usually there’s a bit more, I don’t know... we’ve only been dating for a week.”

“But you’ve known each other since you moved in, gotten _close_  the past two months, and Derek talks about you _all_  the time,” Laura teased.

The only reason Derek didn’t try to hit her was because Stiles was in the way, but he did glare angrily at her and make it clear she was the worst thing to ever happen to him in his life. She just smiled back sweetly.

“They wanted you to come by for dinner on Saturday,” Derek muttered. “If you’re free.”

Stiles thought about it for a moment, trying to think about how he felt meeting his boyfriend’s parents after just dating him for literally one week. It was kind of a lot of pressure, and while he was sure it would be fine, he kind of wanted a bit of a buffer.

After almost a minute, he finally got his buffer, and he smiled mischievously at Derek.

“Sure, I’ll come. On one condition: can you get another invite?”

Derek frowned, but shrugged. “Sure, more the merrier.”

“Great, I’ll make sure my dad is free.”

Laura burst out laughing at how quickly the colour drained from Derek’s face and Stiles just grinned and leaned forward to kiss him before settling against him comfortably once more.

If Stiles was going to meet Derek’s parents this weekend, then Derek was going to meet his dad as his boyfriend. Fair was fair.

He couldn’t wait to see how Derek fared in the face of sheriff Stilinski. Especially after having gotten into this relationship by lying his way into Stiles’ apartment with a fake noise complaint claim.

Then again, he also couldn’t wait for his dad to meet Derek because he’d insisted over and over again that Stiles wouldn’t have a partner fall into his lap. Joke was on him, he shouldn’t have said that, because now he was going to meet his super buff, super attractive, incredibly sweet boyfriend.

And to think Stiles had almost moved out.

That would’ve been a huge loss for both of them.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Percy Jackson (c) Rick Riordan  
> Harry Potter (c) J.K. Rowling  
> Umbrella Academy (c) Gerard Way  
> Brooklyn 99 (c) Michael Schur & Dan Goor
> 
> (Edit: 10/08/2019 - STORY TIME - So I've gotten enough comments about this that I feel I need to explain some things, even though I shouldn't have to because this is a fic, no one is entitled to hearing about my personal life, and that's just how it be, but gonna do it anyway. So basically, Stiles is currently me. I have had a neighbour complaining about me for literally 31 months (which, for people bad at math like me, is OVER two years) and they are literally ruining my life. I have massive anxiety every time I do anything, INCLUDING SLEEP, and I basically cannot live my life in any capacity. The building manager is really nice to me, but the property manager is pretty much useless and the complaints continue to come during times where I am literally passed out in bed. In light of that, I wrote this fic because by God, I needed some fucking happy in my life over a situation I have no control over. Is Derek in the wrong? I mean, yeah, I never say he's not. Did Stiles suffer? Of course he did. But you know what? He got a happy ending, because turns out his anxiety was due to a poor decision on Derek's part, and he felt terrible about it. I don't get a happy ending, I get constant anxiety and apologetic texts from the building manager because it's his job to tell me he knows I'm sleeping but lady is still complaining. So given I wrote this to make myself feel better, and I decided to share it with you, do me a favour and instead of making me feel worse by telling me how horrible I am and how shitty Derek is, just hit the red X in the corner instead and you can avoid having to look at this fic again. People write things for various reasons, it'd be real great if there was a bit more understanding and a bit less attacks in the world. You don't know why someone wrote something or what's going on with the person on the other end of the computer screen. So just click the X if you hated this fic and thought Derek was a dick to Stiles. I know he was, but Stiles at least gets to live his life anxiety-free because the building manager was in love with him. I get to go cry in the shower every night. TL;DR - If you don't like, don't click, thanks!)


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